Teach Me
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: Widowed Hermione takes a post at a newly opened wizarding school, expecting eighteen-year-old Scorpius Malfoy will be her most troublesome student. What she doesn't expect is to feel a spark when she meets Draco for the first time since Hogwart's, or that both Malfoys would complicate her life—and her heart—quite so much. *ON TEMPORARY HIATUS*
1. Blond-haired Banes of Her Existence

**NOTES:**

**1\. Hermione goes by her maiden name, there is an in-story reason for this.**

**2\. The Dumbledore Institute is a very specific facility, offering scholastic redemption to those who completed their term at Hogwarts with less-than-stellar grades.**

**3\. As stated in the summary, this is a ****_dark _****romantic (yes, and erotic) drama, as such it may explore aspects of human emotion which may make some readers uncomfortable.**

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Harry Potter_, or any affiliated characters, and make no money off this story.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

Blond-haired Banes of Her Existence

Hermione held in another exasperated sigh as she waved her wand, directing the chalk to write an incantation on the board. She could _feel_ Scorpius Malfoy's gaze on her. Not on the words flowing out—where his attention _should_ be, no—on _her._

She flicked an impatient glance toward her shoulder, not really wanting to turn around to address the young man. Unsettling, really, how very much he resembled his father during their last days at Hogwart's.

Equally unsettling was her certainty that the direction of the younger Malfoy's gaze should make her wish The Dumbledore Institute for the Continuing Education of Witches and Wizards had a much more Hogwarts-like dress code—but, no, Harry _had_ to insist that Dumbledore wouldn't have cared for any level of pomp and circumstance. A proper dress code at all, for teachers and students, alike, might've kept her from dressing quite so casually. Let this be the last time she wore jeans to work.

Hell, let this be the last time she didn't wear full robes.

* * *

Scorpius waited patiently for her to turn to face him, his gaze tracing her curves. He knew she felt the weight of his stare, he could tell from the sudden change in her posture. That subtle stiffening of her spine—a stance most people affected when they felt someone watching them—spoke volumes.

Each day he sat in her class he heard his father's words in his head. How curious he always found it that when Draco Malfoy groused over his time at Hogwarts, he seemed to spend extra effort complaining about Hermione Granger. Strangely, Scorpius recalled a few times seeing her, himself, at Platform 9 and 3/4's during his own Hogwart's years and thinking she could've passed for a Seventh Year student. She'd not changed much at all since then, making him wonder—with those wide, expressive brown eyes, pretty, though small, mouth, and wild golden-brown hair, always tied back in deliciously sloppy buns these days—if his father's prolonged rants about her truly had anything to do with her insufferable know-it-all tendencies, or something . . . _else_.

Recently Scorpius had decided he'd had enough of his father's miserable solitude and resolved to do something about it. Now, if only she'd finally cooperate and get angry with him, as he intended. Thus far, however, she'd made a practiced art of ignoring him.

* * *

"What is important about the incantation I've written on the board?" Hoping to call him out, and refocus his _extremely_ wayward attention, Hermione added, "Mr. Malfoy?"

Resounding silence was the answer he granted her. Scowling, she tried to quell her irritation, instead directing the chalk to scrawl more detailed questions on the board.

Did he have any idea how easily his smarmy attitude conjured inflammatory memories of classroom rows between herself and his father? She forced down a gulp of anger before speaking.

"Mr. _Malfoy_?"

* * *

Her voice was shrill in a way the class hadn't heard since Seamus Finnigan's daughter set her desk aflame. Scorpius continued to hold his tongue. This was the most responsive he'd seen her; perhaps she'd at last had enough of his nonsense.

Dark brows arching beneath his pale-gold hair, he pointedly went on following the press of rounded flesh against denim with his eyes. Certainly he was doing this for his father's benefit, but why shouldn't he at least make the task enjoyable for himself?

He ignored the sudden sense of tension rippling through the room as the professor finally pivoted on her heel to face the class. Rather than lifting his gaze, he let himself be fascinated with the way those rough, Muggle women's trousers appeared to hug the wearer's . . . feminine bits. Really, the creator of such attire should be commended.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Hermione had all she could do not to stamp her foot as she hissed his name.

_Good girl, _he thought in relief, hiding a smirk. Grey eyes raised in slow, drowsy blinks to look up at her. "Yes, Professor?"

"Are you paying attention?" She barely kept the suspicious, pinched expression off her face.

He flashed a grin. "Of course I am."

"So what can you tell us about this incantation?"

Scorpius' grin faded suddenly, a deceptively innocent look overtaking his features. "Oh, you mean to the lesson? Sorry, no."

She tapped her wand over her shoulder and the chalk dropped instantly, hitting the tray beneath the board with such force that the fragile writing implement cracked into several pieces. "Then what, exactly, _are _you paying attention to, may I ask?"

Tipping his head to one side, he allowed his gaze to move over her in an unhurried, head-to-toe flick, before once more meeting her eyes as his grin returned. "Something _infinitely_ more interesting."

He felt the collective grimace of his classmates as the professor set her jaw. Though often a pleasant woman, Professor Granger's temper was legendary throughout Wizarding Britain. They all likely thought he had a death wish. What he had was curiosity as to whether the wash of red now tinting her cheeks was a sign of anger or embarrassment.

Scorpius puzzled over this observation in a corner of his mind. She was the same age as his father, which made her . . . forty-three? Forty-four? To think that a woman her age could blush so easily was oddly endearing in his eyes.

"Class is dismissed," she said quietly, her tone cold and collected in a way that he'd probably dread . . . if it didn't play right into his plans, of course. "Mr. Malfoy, my office. Now!"

He offered a haughty, unaffected grin in response. The brief flare of temper—the lids of her already narrowed eyes squeezing tighter, still, for barely a second—was not missed by him.

"You should know you look exactly like your father when you make that face, and testing my patience _never_ ended well for him," she warned as she stormed to the classroom door, appearing uncaring as to whether he followed or not.

Sighing, he reminded himself he had to put on a show, or this would never work. Scorpius peeled his lanky frame out of his chair and stuffed his fists into the pockets of his trousers as he dragged his feet to trail after her.

As they walked he glanced about the corridor. The other students and faculty who caught his gaze as Professor Granger led him to her office spared him pitying looks. Their reactions gave him pause—precisely how terrible _was_ her temper?

She jammed her key into the lock, wrenching the knob and forcing the door to swing wide open.

"You seem flustered, professor. What's wrong? I thought women your age were supposed to enjoy being objectified by younger men."

Hermione bit deep into her lip, wishing she could simply turn around and slap him. Stepping aside, she swept an arm out for him to enter the room.

He merely stared at her, one eyebrow raised. "Whatever happened to ladies first?"

Exhaling hard through her nostrils, she glared back at him. "Scorpius Malfoy, get in that room!"

Shaking his head, he hid another grin as he sauntered inside and took a seat in one of the cushy armchairs that faced her desk. His gaze touched on various things decorating the walls and peeking out from shelves as he puzzled over her numerous Muggle knick-knacks.

Hermione drew a long, heavy sigh as she shut the door and crossed the room. _Remain calm, you are an authority figure. You _cannot_ hex a student simply for being an arse. _Though she did secretly relish the time that Barty Crouch, Jr.—masquerading as a teacher— had transfigured the elder Malfoy into a ferret.

"I'm curious, Mr. Malfoy," she began, reigning in her temper as she stepped around her desk, but didn't sit down, instead continuing to a cage set beside the window. "Is your problem with me that I'm a filthy Mudblood?"

Scorpius blinked in confusion, suddenly sitting up a bit straighter—even after all of his father's tirades about the past and the many awful things she and his father had the habit of saying to one another, he still hadn't been prepared to hear _that_ term fall from _her_ lips. "What?"

She opened the cage door, releasing a barn owl. The creature obediently flew to her desk and perched neatly atop a stack of books on one corner. Snatching up her quill and a roll of parchment, she finally took her seat.

Her gaze fixed on the words she wrote rather than on him as she elaborated, "I've discussed this matter with Professors Lovegood and Zabini, and it seems that I am the only teacher for whom you put on this difficult-act. Professor Lovegood is a pure-blood, and Professor Zabini—forgetting that he is a friend of your father's—is _also _a pure-blood. Therefore, I am forced to assume your lack of respect toward me is a reflection of the Malfoys' sunshine-and-daisies view on muggle-borns."

His brow furrowed, his gaze darting about as his posture slumped. "Well, no Professor. That's actually got nothing to do with—"

"I'd figured your father had long ago learned the error of viewing things through your _grandfather_'s eyes, but I only helped save the entire Wizarding world from a terrible fate before I'd even graduated Hogwarts, what do I know?"

The harsh tap of the quill against the parchment as she dotted the _I_ in her signature seemed to reverberate through the momentary silence of the room. "Also never would have thought sending an owl to Malfoy Manor—_or_ meeting with your father—would solve a problem, yet here I am," she said in a seething whisper as she sealed the parchment and held it out for the owl to take.

_Finally, _Scorpius thought, putting effort into keeping his expression from brightening as he sprang forward in the armchair, eyes wide in feigned disbelief. "You didn't actually just request a parent-teacher conference."

"_Actually_ I did," she replied, propping an elbow on her desk to rest her chin against the heel of her palm as the owl dove out the window. "As I recall, the only person your father always heeded was _his_ father. That's one Malfoy tradition I hope stands the test of time."

"Professor you can't be serious," he said, his tone indignant. She'd done exactly as he'd hoped, but he knew if he suddenly dropped the act, she'd realize something was amiss. "Tattling on me to my father? Honestly, I'm a grown man."

Despite her determination to remain professional, Hermione couldn't help scoffing, "You are _not_ a grown man." Though, for a reason she didn't understand, she found she had to drop her gaze from his as she spoke those words.

When she returned her attention to his face, he arched a brow. "I beg to differ."

Her hand dropped to the desktop as she gaped at him—she refused to acknowledge what he implied. "Perhaps if you chose to _act_ like a grown man, I wouldn't have to treat you like some First Year."

"Merlin's Beard, it's like you're afraid of men looking at you," he muttered, barely aware he'd spoken the observation aloud.

"Pardon me?"

Scorpius knew he shouldn't have said that, knew she didn't understand what he meant, not because she was incapable, but because she chose not to. It dawned on him that he should take the opportunity to excuse himself from the room in a disrespectful, rebellious huff. But deliberately misunderstanding him didn't stop her from from getting angry, and that flare of red was blooming in her cheeks again as her little mouth pulled into a grim line.

Oh, well, he could hardly stop sassing her _now_, could he?

Placing his elbows on the armrests, he clasped his hands before him as he leaned forward in his seat. "You heard me, Professor. I think you are afraid of _male_ attention."

Hermione withdrew, as though he'd bitten her. "Mr. Malfoy, this is quite an inappropriate conversa—"

"Perhaps it's something to do with being widowed so young," he mused, yet the moment the words left his lips, he realized he'd finally stepped _too_ far over the line.

Her eyes flashed wide as her mouth fell open. After a moment of strained quiet, she managed to say, "Such matters are _none_ of your concern, Mr. Malfoy. I'll thank you to take your leave now!"

Despite the front she put up, Scorpius saw more than anger in her expression. Sparkling glimmers winked from the corners of her eyes, hinting at tears. Could the wound still really be so raw after all this time that a mere mention made her want to cry?

His face crumbled—he'd not intended to actually hurt her. "Professor Granger, I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Enough!" Hermione snapped, forcing a gulp down her throat.

Scorpius fell silent, blinking as he watched her face.

There was something in the way he was looking at her; it reminded her of his father. Draco had once looked at her that very same way—her injury had been of quite a different sort, then. Damn, she barely thought about Draco Malfoy since finishing Hogwarts; why did he so easily come to mind, lately? That was probably nothing more than the effect of Scorpius' _remarkable_resemblance to him.

Platinum hair and grey eyes apparently came part-and-parcel with the ability to get under her skin.

The owl returned, dropping a correspondence in front of her before retreating to its cage. Grateful for the distraction, she turned it over to see that Draco had written his answer on the original parchment she'd sent out. That figured; he probably didn't want anything in his house that had been handled by a Mudblood.

She offered Scorpius a mirthless smile. "When I speak with your father _tomorrow_, I'll be sure to mention your inability to keep your insensitive observations to yourself. I'm sure he'll quite like that, he was once the same way."

He didn't know what to make of the moment that had just passed. What was wrong with him? He was delighted his plan was working, yet . . . . What the hell was he thinking by taking this discussion down such a serious road? He'd only wanted to tease her a bit longer, to see if he could get more than a mere tinge of red coloring her cheeks.

Frowning, he decided to reroute, to veer back to his lighthearted, if mildly chauvinistic, teasing. "I really only meant that you should be used to men's eyes following you by now."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "I believe I said we're done here, Mr. Malfoy."

Grey eyes rolled as the young man shrugged. "Oh, c'mon, you have _got_ to know what you look like."

That bloom of color he'd been aiming for flooded her face.

"I most certainly do not have to _know_ any such thing. Now, will you please—" A knock at the door cut her words short. "Come in," she hollered, her hands clenching into fists on the desktop.

Rose's sleek, ginger head poked through the door. "Mum, why are you—" Dark eyes, like her mother's, landed on Scorpius, who in turn gave a short wave as he flashed his usual charming grin.

The young woman stepped inside, smiling brightly. "Ah, hear my mother shouting, find a Malfoy in the room. Should've guessed."

"Nice to see you, too, Rose," he said, feigning a wounded tone.

Hermione glanced at the wall clock. "Oh, damn. I'm sorry. I know I was supposed to meet you." She warily eyed Scorpius as she stood and rounded her desk. "I'm just going to . . . go freshen up, and then we can leave."

She turned so fast to fix her gaze on Scorpius that he gave a start. "And I expect _you_ gone when I return."

After her mother disappeared into her office's bathroom, Rose spun to face Scorpius. "You heard her."

Heaving a sigh, he pushed out of the chair. "You know, you look a _lot_ like your mother."

Her eyebrows drew together as she watched him stroll to the door. "What of it?"

"Nothing, just an observation," he said, shrugging as he finally stepped from the room.

While she waited for her mother to return she couldn't abate her curiosity and so occupied herself with idly flicking through items on the desk. As expected of the famous Hermione Granger's daughter, when her nose wasn't stuck in a book, it was in other people's business. The parchment caught her attention and she scooped it up, eyebrows shooting into her bangs as she read the messages.

"Haven't I warned you about snooping?"

Her mother's voice would have made her jump, had she not expected she'd be caught, anyway. "Sorry, terrible habit, I know. I suspect its hereditary."

"Mm-hmm."

Rose set the parchment back down and joined Hermione at the door, linking her arm through her mother's as they walked out of the room. "So . . . meeting with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione's head fell back as she groaned, dropping any professional demeanor now that she was in her daughter's comforting presence. "Don't remind me. I'll have to deal with two Malfoys in one day."

"I'm sorry, Mother. Catastrophes strike everyone's life at some point."

"Rose?"

"Hmm?" Rose was unaccustomed to her mother being distracted, realizing she had to tug the other woman's arm to lead her to the cafe across the street from the Dumbledore Institute.

"Am . . . am I still . . . pretty?" Hearing the awkward phrasing fall from her own lips, Hermione rushed on, "I mean, for a woman my age?"

Turning on a heel, Rose peered into Hermione's face as though the older witch had sprouted an eye in the center of her forehead. "Are you _mad_? If I have to hear one more person ask if you're my sister—and _genuinely_ mean it, not in that fake-flattery way the Muggles do—I may have to give someone a smack."

Hermione couldn't help laughing. This was what she needed, Rose always knew how to make her smile, no matter how miserable she felt. "Thank you, but that's not what I asked."

Taking a seat at one of the outdoor tables, Rose waited until her mother sat, as well, before responding. "Yes. You're pretty, Mum; beautiful, in fact. You always have been. But . . . what's brought this on?"

"Well, I . . . " Hermione offered a thoughtful pout, what _had_ brought this on? _Oh, c'mon, you have got to know what you look like_. She shook her head, banishing Scorpius Malfoy's voice as quickly as it had sounded. No, this couldn't have anything to do with the things he'd said, he'd only been trying to bother her, after all. "I don't know, really. I suppose I was just—"

"Merlin's Beard, has it finally happened?"

Brown eyes widening, Hermione asked, "Has _what_ finally happened?"

Rose smiled brightly, looking rather more like a proud parent than a nosy daughter, Hermione thought."You've got your eye on someone!"

Giving a start, Hermione snatched up menu from the end of the table and flipped it open, locking her gaze on the list of appetizers. "Rose Weasley, I most certainly do not!"

Sighing, Rose tapped a fingertip against the menu until Hermione looked up at her. "It's okay, really. It's been long enough, don't you think?"

Hermione reached out, clasping her daughter's hand in her own as she smiled, small, but warm. "I don't have my eye on anyone. I was just wondering, that's all, really."

"Well," Rose began, smiling back as she grabbed a menu for herself with her free hand, "just . . . know that when it _does_ happen, it'll be okay with us."

Eyebrows shooting up, Hermione echoed, "_Us_? So you and Hugo have discussed your mother's love life?"

Clearing her throat, Rose slid her hand out from beneath Hermione's and pointedly dropped her gaze to the menu. "Hugo, and me, and . . . Uncle Harry."

"Harry?" Hermione's face fell.

"Aunt Ginny."

Dropping her face into her hands, Hermione muttered, "My whole family talking about me, without me there. That's just . . . brilliant."

Rose bit her lip, weighing her words since her previous ones were so poorly chosen. "It wasn't like that. We just . . . we just all feel maybe you should find someone who will make you happy. Dad would understand."

Hermione waited for Rose to lift her gaze before speaking, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat. "Thank you."

Rose's expression brightened.

Returning her attention to the menu, Hermione muttered, "Still haven't got my eye on anyone."

"Damn!"

* * *

Sighing, Draco rubbed his temples with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. "Do you want to tell me what possessed you to attempt chatting up your _teacher_?"

Scorpius chuckled, his expression bright. "Chatting up? Is that what she wrote?"

Draco shot out of his seat, venom in his voice. "Do you think this is funny?"

Despite their similar stature, Scorpius shrank back in the face of his father's anger. "In a way . . . ."

"In a way?" Draco thundered, before pausing to take a breath. Rolling his eyes he asked, "Do you have any comprehension of how awkward this little _conference_ will be?"

Seeing his father furious made Scorpius want to tell the truth, yet he often doubted Draco realized his own feelings. If he didn't carry on with his ruse, Father would simply call off the meeting . . . and then continue to mope and grouse for eternity.

"Is this about your mother?"

"What?" Scorpius nearly fell down where he stood. Where had that question come from?

"You're getting back at me for the divorce, or some other such bizarre Muggle-psychology nonsense?"

Forcing a sigh, Scorpius shook his head. "No, Father, I've been over that for years now."

The admittance only exasperated Draco further. Obviously his son wanted to make his life miserable for no reason, whatsoever, then. Scorpius was very much how he often imagined he'd have been, had the War—and everything that came with it—not left such a dark stain on him. Perhaps he should count his blessings, then, that there'd been no beautiful, young-looking teachers at Hogwarts. "Then why?"

"I don't really—"

"You know better. You're a grown man, Scorpius!"

Scorpius held up a finger, "I said that _very_ same thing to Professor Granger."

"Along with a few other choice phrases, apparently."

Sighing, Scorpius shrugged. "She's an attractive woman, I may have mentioned it . . . ad nauseum."

Draco slumped back into the desk-chair as he slapped a hand against his forehead. "Go to your room."

Dark eyebrows inching upward, Scorpius said, "Grown man, remember?"

Dropping his hand, Draco fixed his son with a lethal glare.

Backpedaling instantly, Scorpius put up his arms in surrender. "All right, I'm going."

Once Scorpius was gone, Draco lowered his gaze, staring daggers at the floor. Meeting with Granger to discuss inappropriate conduct, of all things. Life certainly had a terrible sense of humor. The last thing he wanted was to have to speak with that insufferable know-it-all.

And for Merlin's sake, why was he suddenly inspecting his own reflection in the finely polished floor tiles?

* * *

Hermione sniffled, her fingers trailing over the moving faces in the articles. She'd obsessively saved every paper from their infamous _Eighth Year_ at Hogwarts—the only class, ever, to start the year off with the entire class already eighteen years old.

As she'd opened the trunk, she'd deliberately ignored the divorce papers, drafted, yet unsigned as they were. Watching the image of Ron laughing with Harry, she couldn't help but wonder . . . if he'd lived, if they'd tried again, if they'd tried _harder_, could they have made it work?

She shook her head. It didn't matter, did it? Three years she'd spent wondering, torturing herself over those what-ifs. "But it's a question that never can be answered, isn't it," she murmured, a sad little smile playing on her lips.

A pale, scowling face in the background caught her eye. Draco Malfoy. "Hmph," she uttered the sound before taking another sip of Muggle-rum. "The resemblance really is uncanny."

Her mouth pulled to one side as she pointed at his image. "You know, I actually once thought you were cute."

Hearing her own words, Hermione looked into her glass and then at the bottle. _Clearly_ she'd had too much, already. She carefully recapped the bottle and stood, leaving the papers where they lay as she turned on an unsteady heel and headed off to bed.

* * *

_Her breath caught in her throat as arms circled her. This wasn't the time or place for such things—honestly, she was in front of the class, writing incantations on the board!_

_"You can't—"_

_"Shh," was all he said in response before pressing a long, hungry kiss to the side of her throat._

_Warmth shot through her as her head fell back against his shoulder. She draped her arms lightly over his, unable . . . no, that wasn't correct . . . _unwilling_ to stop his hands from dipping beneath her clothes._

_His fingers slid up, into her bra, to cup her breast, circling the pad of his thumb over her nipple. His other hand, already tight against her in the unforgiving space of her jeans, slipped roughly between her thighs._

_She trembled as his fingers worked her in a rapid, uneven rhythm. Moaning softly, she sank her teeth into her lip as she pressed herself closer to him. The feel of his hardened length pushing back as he moved against her motions sent another shot of delicious warmth through her body._

_He chuckled softly, his pale-gold hair brushing her shoulder as he lapped and nipped at her earlobe. "So wet under my touch," he whispered, his fingers sliding against her faster._

_Dropping her arms from his, she reached back to clamp her hands over his hips, so that she could pull herself more tightly against him each time she rocked back._

_"Mmm." His warm breath whispered over her skin, soft lips brushing her ear as he said, "So _very_ eager. Will you come for me?"_

* * *

Hermione shot up in bed, a hand over her thundering heart as though she'd just experienced the most horrid of nightmares. Breathing heavily, her wide eyes darted about the darkened room.

_No more drinking . . . ever, _ever_, again! _she thought, her inner voice vehement.

"Oh, dear God," she whispered, remembering the most terrifying aspect of what her—wicked, monstrous, horrible—imagination had just shown her. That platinum hair. . . . Yet, that still wasn't the worst thing that she could recall now, as her raging heartbeat slowed and she reluctantly acknowledged the embarrassing dampness between her thighs left in the wake of that . . ._nightmare_.

For a moment, she was positive that had been Draco, but the voice . . . she wasn't certain. It _could_ have been Scorpius. "Hermione, you—you . . . dirty old woman!" she scolded herself for even considering that it could have been the younger Malfoy.

She didn't want to dream about Malfoys, at all. In any context. _Ever_.

She glanced at her clock and groaned, a thick, angry sound of self-loathing as she saw that she would have to wake up in a few minutes, anyway.

"Oh . . . dear _God_," she repeated. She honestly had no idea which Malfoy she'd just dreamed such . . . _awful_ things about. How on earth was she going to face both of them in a matter of hours?

* * *

Fortunately, by the time Scorpius Malfoy strolled into the room, Hermione'd had enough time to talk sense into herself. Alcohol, plus loneliness brought about by her discussion with Rose, combined with Scorpius' teasing comments yesterday had done a number on her subconscious, that was all.

Perhaps it was the hope that her problems with him were as good as dealt with that stymied her mind's attempts to wander toward that sinful dream. Or perhaps her brain was simply so embarrassed to have imagined such a thing that it refused to think on it. Whatever the case, she was grateful she'd regained her ability to ignore his presence.

And then class, and her work day, drew to a close. As she turned away from erasing the board, she found Scorpius placing a scroll on her desk.

She arched a brow. "What's this?"

He met her gaze, shrugging. "The answers to the questions you wrote on the board yesterday."

Doubtful, Hermione snatched up the scroll and unfurled it. There they were, word-for-word. She repressed a smile.

Again he shrugged. "I said I was paying attention."

"So you did," she replied, setting the scroll back on her desk. The action knocked a quill to the floor.

Scorpius retrieved it and held the quill out her. As she took it, the tips of her fingers accidentally brushed his.

He refused to believe he saw something flicker in the depths of her brown eyes as she pulled her hand away from his to place the quill back upon the desk.

She dropped her gaze, clearing her throat as she tidied her papers. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Um, yeah," was all he said, wondering over just what he'd seen as he turned and left the room.

Hermione dropped her face into her hands. What the _hell_ was wrong with her?

"Hermione?" Luna's soft, tinkling voice broke into Hermione's moment of self-pity.

"Hmm?"

"Draco Malfoy's here, I told him to wait in your office. Is that okay?"

Hermione met her friend's concerned gaze with a forced smile. "Fine, that's fine. Thanks."

Luna nodded and disappeared again, though Hermione knew she'd be questioned about whatever had been bothering her the next time they went to lunch together. Maybe by then, she'd have an explanation for her current bout of madness.

Schooling her features, Hermione drew in a few long, calming breaths, before leaving the classroom and heading to her office. She could face Draco Malfoy, no problem. He didn't look like he did when they'd left Hogwarts, everything would be fine.

She stepped inside and closed the door quietly before turning toward her desk.

"Finally, Granger," Draco said, his words a lazy, yet aggravated drawl as he peered at her from around the side of one of the armchairs. "Request a meeting, then leave me waiting? Honestly."

Hermione only stared for a moment. She didn't know what he'd done, but he wasn't balding anymore. The perfect, platinum hair and light, groomed facial hair made him look . . . . _So young,_probably in the same bizarre way that she still looked young.

"Granger," he repeated, his dark brows shooting up into his hair.

"Huh?" She immediately shook her head, willing her legs into motion. "Right, sorry, it's just been a while. I didn't expect to see you looking so . . . ."

"So not-bald," he said, scowling.

She shrugged, as she opted to sit in the armchair across from him, rather than behind the desk. Clearly she simply wanted to get a closer look and didn't want to appear openly rude by leaning across the desk, she told herself. "Well . . . "

"Merlin's Beard," he breathed the words, chuckling in spite of himself. "I'm a wizard, I used a hair tonic. I wish everyone could just get over it, already."

"I thought pure-bloods had mastered the art of growing old gracefully."

"Growing up having to look at that head of hair my father had and you expect me to accept losing mine _gracefully_?"

This was not the way she'd thought this meeting would start—at all. She'd imagined awkward moments of silence, interspersed with barbed comments. Yet, here she was relaxing, even unable to help herself from smiling as she said, "Your father did have great hair."

Instantly recognizing that she was teasing him, his grey eyes narrowed. "Oh, shut it, Granger. I believe we're here to discuss Scorpius."

Her face fell.

Dark brows arched upward. "That bad?"

"He's just . . . I suppose it's because of how you and I were at Hogwarts, but Scorpius seems to lack any grasp of boundaries. He's been extremely inappropriate with regard to comments he's made to me."

"Yes, that I gathered from your owl yesterday. What else?"

She remembered suddenly the answers Scorpius had turned in. "You know, I think that's it."

Frowning_,_ Draco leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he peered into her face.

Hermione shrank back a bit, forgetting that she was the one in a position of authority in this situation.

"That's it?" He shook his head, "You called me in here just for that? You already stated as much in the message."

Her shoulders slumping, she bit her lip. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd come. I figured the note would be enough and you'd address the problem with Scorpius, and that would be the end of it."

"You're joking."

"How was I to know you'd be suddenly so agreeable?"

Draco's expression darkened. "You're taking a tone with me? You dragged me in here for what turns out to be no reason—"

"There was a reason!" Hermione sat up straight, slipping back into her old, comfortable, role of arguing with Draco Malfoy more easily than she'd have thought possible. "Your son ogling me like a starved werewolf while I'm trying to teach _is_ a reason, Malfoy!"

"A reason of which you'd already made me aware, Granger!" His jaw tightened as he leaned closer, still, getting in her face. "Ogling you? Dear Merlin, woman! What male in his right mind wouldn't?"

"I—" she began railing, until she realized what he'd said. "Was that a compliment?"

Grey eyes rolling upward, he heaved a sigh. "I suppose it was."

Shock rippled through her at the very notion. "_I_ just . . . received a compliment from_ Draco Malfoy_?"

"Well, if you're going to make a fuss about it," he muttered, standing and straightening wrinkles from his dark trousers.

Understanding that he probably wanted to make a hurried exit after such an unprecedented moment, she stood, as well. "Um, I'll walk you out."

His brow furrowed. "Granger, I really don't think that's necessary. The door's right_ there_."

"I was only being polite," she said with a frown as she crossed the room beside him.

He turned to look down at her, his hand gripping the door knob. "I complimented you, you're being polite to me."

Hermione's face scrunched as she realized how odd both of those things were.

"I swear, there must be a cauldron leak somewhere in this building."

She couldn't help a laugh. Yes, clearly Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger being anything other than venomous to one another had to be the fault of spilled potions lacing the air.

"It actually wasn't terrible," he said, his voice low and thoughtful.

"What wasn't?"

Draco shrugged, "This meeting."

"No, I guess it wasn't. Let me get that for you." Unaware of his hand on knob, Hermione reached to open the door for him. Her fingers settled over his and she pulled her hand away, but not before noticing how close he stood.

Her stomach did a giddy flip-flop as he caught her gaze.

"I know how to open a door, Granger," he said quietly.

"Right, of course," she mumbled, unable to look away. "Just . . . like I said, being polite."

There was something very different about the way they were behaving around each other, Draco realized. Perhaps it was that this was their first time talking to one another since Hogwart's, perhaps it was no longer being on opposite sides of a brewing war.

"Polite, again?"

She nodded, sighing as she offered a shrug. She realized how strange that must seem, but she'd expected . . . Hermione wasn't even certain what she expected from this meeting, but it certainly wasn't to feel comfortable around Malfoy.

"Does that mean I should compliment you, again?"

Something about his tone sent a hint of warmth washing through her. "If you like, I mean, I really—"

He cut her off, covering her mouth with his own. But only for a moment; only long enough to dart out his tongue, tasting her lips and drawing the breath from her.

Hermione shuddered, that warmth his voice had started spreading, and pulled back, staring up at him.

Strangely, Draco seemed to collect himself immediately. "We should do this again, some time, Granger."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What, kiss?"

He smirked, looking more and more like the Draco Malfoy she remembered. "I meant talk." Opening the door, he bit his lip before saying, "But . . . yeah, that, too."

Without waiting for her response, he vanished into the corridor.

Hermione made her way back to one of the chairs and fell onto the cushion. Had that really just happened? Had she _really_ just been kissed by Draco Malfoy?

First that weird little moment with Scorpius, now this with Draco? She pressed a hand to her suddenly pounding forehead. Perhaps there _was_ a reason she couldn't recognize the voice of the Malfoy in her dream.


	2. Realizations, Great or Small

**Chapter Two**

Realizations, Great or Small

Harry coughed, spitting out a mouthful of alcohol. Though not the most pleasant of reactions, the poor old table in their current booth at the Leaky Cauldron had probably seen worse.

Cringing, Hermione reached for a napkin and held it out to him. She couldn't bring herself to look at his face as he snatched the cloth from her hand and wiped his chin.

"Please tell me you're joking," he grumbled before taking another, much longer swig.

She pouted, shaking her head. "Harry, I don't really know how it happened. We were talking and then—"

"And then you had some sort of fit and let a Malfoy kiss you!"

Her shoulders drooped and she sat back, folding her arms under her breasts. "And here I thought maybe you'd be the one person who'd be understanding about this."

His eyebrows shot up. "Underst— ? Why would you think I could understand this? Do you even remember Hogwarts? Or the War?"

"That was a long time ago, Harry," she whispered, her gaze on the tabletop. "It wasn't like I expected it to happen. And I expected you to understand because you're the only person in the world who knows that Ron and I were going to split."

He mirrored her posture, his shoulders slumping. "What's that got to do with this?"

Her gaze leapt about as she answered, "A lot more than I thought, apparently."

Days had passed since that kiss, but she was having trouble forgetting about it. In fact, seeing Scorpius in class—with his face so like his father's—seemed to keep the memory at the front of her thoughts. She also felt as though the young man had slipped back into his habit of ogling her, but she was no longer certain what to make of that.

Quick, every time; he turned his head at just the right moment that she barely saw the flick of those grey eyes on hers. It was shameful that she couldn't simply brush off the look she thought she saw in his eyes. That look was not his father, there was something about the expression that was _solely _Scorpius Malfoy. And she doubted that if he chose to lock eyes she'd be able to look away.

And she was still no closer to figuring out which of the Malfoy men that sordid dream had been about, but she certainly wasn't going to tell Harry _any_ of that.

"The truth is that . . ." she bit her lip as she thought out what she wanted to say. She was about to give voice to something she'd never admitted before, and she wasn't at all sure Harry wanted to hear it. "I think I've been lonely for a very long time now. From even before Ron died."

Harry forced a laugh, shaking his head. "Hermione, you are probably the least lonely person I know. I mean, you're not happy unless you're being left by yourself with a stack of books."

Her eyes drifted closed as she drew a shaky breath. This wasn't just about one silly little kiss, and this wasn't about Malfoy, not really. "I didn't even think about it until Rose said something the other day. About how it would be okay if I moved on, if I found someone."

"Sure, and then you turned around, tripped over Malfoy and thought, 'Hey, he's _someone_!'"

"This isn't about _him_, and _you're_ not listening! And quite frankly, you're being a _really_ rotten friend right now, Harry Potter!"

"I . . . ." Harry's voice died on his lips when she fixed her gaze on his, her dark eyes wounded and watery. He hadn't realized until that moment that she was genuinely upset. He hadn't been able to see beyond his own irritation at Malfoy, held over from so many years ago and ultimately left unresolved.

"You're right," he said with a sigh, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I'll listen."

"This isn't about him," she repeated, her own head shaking as she picked at the cracked wood surface of the table with the edges of her nails. "It's about how I feel. I never acted lonely, because I don't think I realized that I_was_. But then, the other day . . . I don't know. The world is a much different place for us now than it was when we were children, and without the war at our backs, we were just there, talking, and . . . ." She shrugged, nervously licking her lips, "I can't say how it happened, or why, but for those few moments I think I just forgot to be lonely. For a very long time I thought I was supposed to be miserable, I thought maybe that was my punishment for not appreciating my marriage while Ron was still here."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, again shaking his head. Hermione always knew just what to say make him feel as though she'd plucked out his heart and stomped on it—he supposed he should simply be grateful she didn't give Ginny and Lily lessons. "Hermione . . . ."

"I thought I didn't try enough, that _I_ let it all slip away."

Frowning, he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had been such a long day, and this conversation just added a few more dragging hours. "I watched you two try to make a go of it for years. You were both exhausted, and I just don't think you had it in you to fight anymore—not just with each other, but for each other." He reached out, covering her hand with his own on the tabletop. "And I think if he'd lived, he would have seen the sense of it and signed those papers."

She nodded, sniffling, but unable to meet his gaze.

"So that's what this was really about then?" He said with a sigh as he let go of her hand and slipped his glasses back into place. "One lip-lock with Malfoy and you stopped torturing yourself for a few minutes?"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "Lip-lock? What are we, still in school?"

He shrugged, pointedly keeping a straight face. "How should I know? You're the one snogging the school bully in a teacher's office."

"Oh, nice," she said, her voice lighter as she tossed a napkin at him.

"All right, so I will just deal with the fact that my best friend has lost her mind, again," he ignored her affronted expression. "So, what happens now with you two?"

She turned her attention to her long-forgotten drink and took the straw between her fingers, pushing half-melted ice cubes around in the glass. "That's the thing, I don't know. Maybe something, maybe I never talk to him again. I haven't the foggiest, but in a strange way, it was nice just to connect to another person as something that wasn't Harry Potter's best friend, or Rose and Hugo's mother . . . Ron Weasley's widow. Professor Granger," she muttered the last one as she shook her head.

"So if you think there's a chance nothing will come of it, why did you tell me?"

"Didn't you hear either one of us, just now? We're _best friends_, Harry—since we were eleven years old, for Heaven's sake! I just wanted it out in the open in case anything did happen. I didn't want to feel like I'm keeping something from you."

Harry nodded before falling silent for a long while. He didn't look at her, keeping his gaze on his hands as he folded them on the table, interlacing his fingers. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but . . . maybe something_should_ come of it."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"I . . ." he still didn't meet her gaze, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. "I may have issues with him that will never be settled, and I get that. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, it might have been nothing—and God knows, I_hope_ nothing comes of it—but, Hermione, if there is even the slightest chance at all that you could be happy, then I think you should find out which it is."

She shrank back, certain she was misunderstanding something. "You're joking."

A self-deprecating grin curved Harry's lips as he shook his head. "I wish I was. Owl him, ask him for a drink or . . . something?"

Leaning forward, she peered into his face for a silent moment. "You're not joking."

Again he shook his head. "I mean it, Hermione. I'd rather you be happy, than not _just_ to spare me some discomfort."

"I thought we were clear that this wasn't about _him._"

Harry shrugged, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. "Maybe it is. My point is, you deserve someone who makes you happy and, as disturbing as it is for me to admit, it sounds like somehow he managed to do that—for a few seconds, anyway."

A weight seemed to lift from her, though she didn't quite understand why, or from where the weight had come. This one, silly little kiss should not be a big deal at all; it was . . . _nothing,_ really, wasn't it? But then, perhaps the freedom to see if it could be anything more was of greater importance to her than she'd let herself consider.

Lips curving into a smile, she managed to catch his gaze. "I can't believe _you're_ the one suggesting this."

"Neither can I." He winked at her, "Just don't expect we'll make room for the Malfoys at Christmas dinner, all right?"

"Funny."

She tried picturing Draco and Scorpius sitting down at the long table with the Potter-Weasley clan and couldn't help a laugh. She ignored that for the briefest second, as she imagined herself seated between the two Malfoys, she wasn't certain which one was which.

* * *

_As he stepped through the doorway, he paused. She hadn't noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to simply watch her. He found it charming in a strange way that despite how adept she was at her magic and how famously skilled with a wand, she chose to erase the chalkboard by hand, as a muggle might._

_She moved across the wall, walking sideways along the length of the board. Her path brought out from behind her desk so that his full view of her was no longer obscured. She was clad in a dark, pleated skirt, matched sweater-vest and a crisp white button-down shirt. In fact, her choice of attire today rather reminded him of a Hogwart's uniform. Well, if one excused the polished, knee-high boots, though they were a_very_ nice touch._

_Stepping just a bit further into the room, he shut the door, only drawing her attention when he clicked the lock into place. She didn't react immediately, though, giving him the impression that she'd heard the noise, but not registered what it was._

_"I'm sorry, I'll be with you in a moment." She glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes widening as she saw him. Setting down the eraser, she turned to face him. "Are you all right?"_

_Stuffing his fists into his pockets, he shrugged and then crossed the room. "Why do you ask?"_

_"Because . . . ." Her voice trailed off as he drew near to her, stopping only when he stood so close that she had to tip back her head to hold his gaze._

_Swallowing hard she tried again. "Because you look . . . troubled."_

_"Maybe I am troubled," he admitted, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "But I think I know how to fix that."_

_She opened her mouth to ask, but he couldn't hold back any longer—not while staring into her eyes like this, nor standing so close that he could smell her perfume. Not when watching her lips part and shiver, ever so slightly, as she tried to form words that just wouldn't come._

_He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close as he brought his mouth crashing down on hers. The pleading whimper that tore out of her throat was the most delicious sound he'd ever heard as he parted her lips with his tongue and plunged inside. Yet it wasn't enough, even as she wound her arms up around his neck to rake her fingers through his hair, and pressed herself even more tightly to him._

_No, even caressing his thrusting tongue with her own and making those sweet little mewling noises as he ground his pelvis against hers wasn't enough. He wanted to show her how much he wanted her, wanted to surprise her with how much he really knew._

_Impressing _her_ was the most important thing in the world at that moment._

_He stepped forward, urging her backward until she bumped the desk. She broke the kiss, letting out a gasp of surprise as he hoisted her up and sat her on edge of the desktop. Whipping the sweater off over her head, he carelessly tossed it aside, aware of the weight of her gaze on him as he reached beneath her skirt to tug aside the elastic edge of her knickers. There was a beautiful, dreamy haze in her eyes as she watched him._

_Holding her gaze, he stroked her. His touch was slow and gentle at first, and then faster, the pressure of his fingertips rising by increments until she writhed against his hand. Her head fell back and he sank his free hand into her hair._

_He lifted her head, forcing her gaze back to his. "I want your eyes on me for _every_ moment of this," he whispered as he slid that hand down to cup her breast, teasingly pinching her nipple through the thin fabrics of her shirt and bra._

_That gorgeous blush flared in her cheeks and she bit her lip as she nodded. Merlin's beard, she was breathtaking—how did she honestly not know how crazy she made him?_

_He lowered himself to his knees before her, watching her face. Watching her expression, watching her struggle not to look away or close her eyes. With every moan, every soft, shuddering breath her blush seemed to deepen further, still._

_She trembled beneath his working fingers, and she pushed her hips forward, her body tensing.._

_"Oh, no," he said, slowing his strokes, "not yet."_

_Withdrawing his hand—and delighting in the small sound of disappointment she uttered at the loss of his touch—he tugged at her knickers and pulled them down her legs, dropping them to the floor. He pressed lightly against the insides of her knees, and she responded eagerly, opening her thighs for him._

_He leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers all the while. Parting her with his fingers, he lapped his tongue over her. She let out a throaty, half-moaned giggle each time he grazed her with the edges of his teeth._

_Her mouth dropped open as he closed his lips around the pulsing little bead of flesh and suckled at her. She gripped her fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth more tightly against her even as she fought to keep watching him._

_She began to tense again, the little hiccupping breaths escaping her and the pleading look in those dark eyes told him he had her _so_ close._

_"Scorpius," she whispered, her fingers tightening into fists._

* * *

Scorpius snapped to attention just as Professor Granger faced the class, clapping her hands.

"All right, class dismissed. Have . . ." she paused, smiling awkwardly and cleared her throat, "Everyone have a lovely weekend, I'll see you all on Monday."

As quickly as she spoke, she turned away, gathering up her things.

For a long moment, he could only watch her bumbling movements as she chatted_—_animated, yet silent—with herself; could only listen to the sounds of his classmates shuffling and scrambling around him to leave.

The instant he was certain his path would be clear, he bolted from his seat to charge from the room and down the corridor. He slammed open the door to the restroom and went straight to the sink to splash cold water on his face.

So . . . perhaps he'd let that daydream get a _bit_ far. After all, she wasn't wearing a skirt, rather a pair of simple black leggings, yet her boots and top hadn't been altered by his imagination. But no, his wayward thoughts weren't what troubled him, though he realized they probably should.

What bothered him was that she seemed so distracted, so unlike herself today. Not once had she even acknowledged the way he was looking at her. And he would have noticed—he always noticed. The setting of her jaw as she glanced at him and just as quickly flitted her gaze away, her expression unreadable yet intriguing to him, was usually enough to pull him away from whatever he was imagining.

Yet that look of . . . of he wasn't sure what did not come today. No, he would have noticed. Whatever was going on in her head at the moment left no room for her to pay mind to his nonsense.

Frowning, he switched off the faucet and reached for a paper towel. Why did he even care? He shook his head as he patted his face dry, ignoring the opportunity to look at himself in the mirror. He _didn't_ care, he was curious as to what could turn a woman usually so tethered to reasonable behavior into a scatterbrain.

After tossing the towel into the trash bin, he drew a deep breath and then opened the door. The corridor was quiet—not that he could blame staff and students, alike, for rushing out of a school institution on a gorgeous Friday afternoon—allowing him a sigh of relief as he stepped from the restroom.

Then he saw her at the end of the corridor, perched on a windowsill across from her office. She was staring through the glass pane, still muttering to herself as she clutched a quill and parchment.

He should just leave. The exit was only a few meters away, and she was very clearly preoccupied.

So why did he find himself turning on a heel and heading toward her? He felt certain she didn't even notice him until he was in front of her. "Professor Granger?"

The woman gave a start, looking up into his face as she broke into a small, unsteady smile. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Malfoy, I didn't see you there."

"Yes, I could tell," he said with raised eyebrows. "I didn't mean to bother you, I was only wondering what's wrong."

"Wrong?" She echoed, her own eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Nothing's wrong."

Shoulders drooping, he gestured to a space on the windowsill beside her. Only after she nodded did he turn and lean his hips back against the sill. "You have to know you seemed a bit _off_ today, Professor."

Her brow furrowed as she cringed. "Oh, no. Was it that obvious?"

Scorpius shrugged, looking down the length of the corridor. "I wasn't paying attention today and even _I_ spotted it, so I'm going to go with 'yes'."

She cast him a sidelong glance. "I thought you were _always_ paying attention."

He feigned an insulted expression as he met her gaze. "Oh, what, so now you're the only person allowed to have an off day?"

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. For a brief, flickering moment, she forgot to be quite so nervous about what she was thinking of doing.

"It's just . . . ." She sighed and shook her head, not noticing how his posture stiffened a bit at the thought that she was about to open up to him, if only a little. "It's just that I'm about to ask someone something and it could turn out a complete disaster, or could be completely, _madly_ great . . . or end instantly with nothing at all."

"Well, not to be pedantic, but the only way to find out which is to go ahead and ask for whatever it is."

She shot him a withering glare.

He met her hard look with one of mild confusion. "I did preface that with 'not to be pedantic,' didn't I?"

Cracking a half-grin that she simply couldn't help, she nodded. "You did. I know this probably seems absolutely absurd to you—someone my age being all uncertain about something this way."

"Oh, please," he scoffed, grey eyes rolling."Like there's an age restriction on feeling nervous. Everyone worries about something. If you're not careful, you'll get frown lines."

She tried not to smile again. "I already have frown lines, thank you very much."

Once more he scoffed. "Hardly. But seriously, you worry too much you might start looking your age."

Her jaw dropped, but a heartbeat passed before she burst out laughing, unable to hold the scandalized expression. "Scorpius Malfoy, you're terrible."

"Thank you, I try," he quipped, with a bow of his head.

Silence fell between them in the wake of her laughter. Somehow, Scorpius found himself acutely aware of her physical presence beside him; of the warmth of her shoulder close to his. He thought he could feel every breath she drew and expelled. Was she fidgeting because of his nearness, or because of whatever this something was that she had to ask someone?

"It may have been a pedantic point, but it's still true," he said quietly, picking at the cuff of one of his jacket's sleeves to occupy himself as he spoke. "This thing you have to ask someone, just do it. It's the only way to get an answer, after all."

She nodded, her attention fixed on the floor. "I know. I just . . . I'm afraid of the whole 'complete disaster' option I mentioned."

He couldn't help looking at her then, tracing her profile with his gaze. "Disasters aren't _all_ bad. They're usually a lot of fun . . . right before the disaster part kicks in, of course. Doesn't mean the risk's not worth taking."

Again, she nodded, Hopping off the windowsill, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "You're right. I need to just get it over with and deal with whatever the answer is."

The young man only shrugged, continuing to pick at his cuff.

"Thank you, Scorpius," she said softly, and then she crossed the hall, disappearing into her office.

Scorpius allowed his head to fall back as he let out a harsh breath. He didn't know what just happened. That hadn't been flirting, had it? "No," he said sternly with a shake of his head as he shoved away from the sill and headed toward the closest exit. Not by any stretch of the imagination had that been flirting.

_No_, he thought again. Only because of talking to her within mere minutes of that silly day dream he'd allowed himself to indulge in was he left with the feeling as though they'd been flirting.

Scorpius stuffed his fists into the pockets of his trousers as he decided to walk home, rather than simply apparating to the Manor grounds. Obviously, he needed the air to clear his head.

_Never_ again would he allow himself to imagine anything like that with her. It was all so inappropriate—putting to shame anything he'd done when he'd been purposely baiting her—that he didn't know where to begin with reprimanding himself.

Hermione felt a smidgen calmer than she had all day after speaking with Scorpius Malfoy. Strange as that seemed that a Malfoy might settle her nerves rather than rattle them.

For the briefest moment, it was difficult to recall that he was so young, he had a way about him—as he'd lounged there beside her, advising her, a woman old enough to be his mother, on how to tackle a problem.

Something in that line of thought troubled her, but she shook it off as she unfurled the scroll of parchment and at last dipped her quill into the ink bottle on her desk.

* * *

Draco's dark eyebrows shot up, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth as he read the message for the second time.

_Draco,_

_I've been thinking on what you said the last time we spoke, about talking again, sometime? I was wondering—that is if you were being serious, of course—if you'd like to get together for drinks? Tonight? Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at seven, if you're interested._

_~H. Granger_

He bit into his bottom lip as he glanced toward the clock. He'd been thinking about their chat, too. More specifically, her surprised, unintended comment that they should _kiss_ again, sometime.

He dropped the parchment down on the end table and eyed his reflection in the gilded mirror above it. Draco combed his fingers through the thick platinum hair he was still getting used to having back as he tipped his chin side to side, examining the fine stubble around his meticulously groomed Van Dyke. Eh, he could shave tomorrow.

Besides, there was every chance Granger liked her men a little scruffy. He couldn't help grinning; honestly, after their history, he'd thought for sure he'd have to pursue her. One of the few house elves who'd remained in faithful service to them after the war scurried to open the door for him as he reached for his jacket and the walking stick he'd inherited from his father—he'd had to have a new wand fashioned just to fit the sheath.

As he crossed the foyer, he nearly collided with Scorpius. He gave his son a narrow-eyed once-over. "You're going to be home on a Friday?"

Scorpius shrugged, watching his father warily as the older Malfoy slipped on a sleek black sport coat. He couldn't recall the last time his father had gone out on a weekend evening. "I just didn't have plans for tonight. Where are you going?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but closed it immediately. He wasn't quite certain how to explain who he was meeting. _I'm meeting your professor for drinks, there might be some kissing involved. After all, that's how that _parent-teacher conference_ turned out. _Or, better still, _I _might_ be dating your teacher, not entirely certain, yet. _Yes, either way that was bound to _not_ be an awkward father-son chat.

Instead, he offered a quick grin, just the slightest lifting of the corners of his mouth as he nodded toward the entrance "Out."

Without waiting for a reply, Draco stepped around Scorpius and continued through the door.

Shaking his head at the strange, stilted interaction, Scorpius continued into the parlor. As he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to the elf, a roll of parchment on one of the end tables caught his eye.

"What's that?"

The elf shrugged as he toddled away to hang up the garment. "A missive for your father, young master."

Nodding, he strolled toward the table, cautiously casting a look over his shoulder as though he expected his father to come barreling back into the Manor any moment. When he saw that even that house elf had disappeared, he faced the table again and scooped up the parchment.

As his gaze moved over the words, he felt a frown carve itself into his face. The ripple of irritated anger that tickled at the back of his mind brought him the awful, awkward realization. He'd developed an actual crush on Professor Granger. Like some puppy-eyed first year, how utterly pathetic of him.

Tossing the parchment back down, he headed for the door. He didn't bother calling for the elf to bring his jacket—the weather was pleasant, jackets were a formality. He was going to a bar. Anywhere _other_ than the Leaky Cauldron. A new place had just opened up. It was called Beer Bats, or something ridiculous like that, if he recalled correctly; rather more popular with his former classmates than the old, dank wizard pubs their parents frequented. He needed to focus on women his own age.

Women whom he hadn't practically just handed over to his own father, gift-wrapped.


	3. Reforging First Impressions

**Chapter Three**

Reforging First Impressions

Draco stepped into the Leaky Cauldron, taking a moment to breathe deeply of the atmosphere. He actually hadn't been to the pub in a long while. Not that he was an incredibly social creature after his family's fall, but he became a great deal less so in recent years.

Scorpius had even dared to say he'd become a recluse since the divorce. If only his son knew that shutting himself away from the world would have started long before then, had life allowed for such a selfish thing.

Scanning the room, he spotted a mass of golden-brown hair that could only belong to one person. Oh, how funny . . . there was a sudden, giddy zinging sensation in the pit of his stomach. The feeling rather reminded him of childhood infatuation.

He cleared his throat and smoothed a palm over his clothes before heading toward her table. There was no need for her to know that the feeling made him wonder if their times at Hogwarts might not have played out differently, had Voldemort never returned.

Or had he the backbone to view the world differently than his father.

"Started without me? How rude."

Draco's voice made Hermione jump, causing her to splash a little of her drink on her sleeve.

He managed a cringe as she turned her head to frown up at him. "Sorry, had no idea you'd become the skittish type."

"I haven't," she said as she snatched up a napkin to blot the liquid. "I just wasn't certain you'd show."

Dark eyebrows shooting into his bangs, he slid into the booth, facing her. "Well, if you'd like I can leave, and we'll pretend I didn't."

She frowned, but waited until the witch who bustled over took his drink order and darted back to the bar before speaking. "Why would I ask you here only to make you leave?"

Draco shrugged. "How should I to know the way Mudbloods think?"

Hermione locked her eyes on his, stone-faced. She held his gaze for a long, silent moment. One corner of his mouth twitched and she couldn't keep the stern façade, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she reached across the table to slap his arm.

"Prat."

"That's better," he said with a smile of his own, watching her expression as his drink was set in front of him.

Her brow furrowed. "What's better? Were you trying to make me angry with you?"

Schooling his features, he spared a moment to sip from his glass. "Actually, I was trying to get you to smile."

Hermione bit her lip, deciding to play coy. Certainly that had never been her strong suit, but she felt it fit the moment, somehow. "Why would you want me to smile?"

"Have you ever tried to chat up someone who was wearing a sour expression?"

"Why would you need to chat up a woman with whom you are already on a date?"

He feigned a look of surprise. "Oh, so _this _is a date? Thank you for clarifying, 'cause I wasn't sure."

"I don't think I was sure either, until I said it," she quipped, laughing in spite of herself.

Propping an elbow on the table, he rested his chin against his palm. "Hmm."

"Hmm?" She echoed the sound, her eyebrows drawing together.

Lifting his drink with his free hand, he shrugged. "I was wrong," he said, before taking a long sip and setting the glass back down.

"About what?"

"The smile." His expression became a touch serious, and he spoke in a low voice, "I wanted you to smile, because I thought smiling was best. Turns out making you laugh is."

There was something in his tone, in the way he was looking at her—in the bizarre and unexpected idea of Draco Malfoy trying to get her to laugh—that brought a warm flare to her cheeks. She bit her bottom lip, unable to do anything more than smile for a moment.

Draco grinned in response, keeping his eyes locked with hers, despite the sore temptation to lower his gaze and watch her mouth. Though, he thought maybe he should give in, if only to gauge her reaction.

He wasn't entirely certain what he expected out of tonight, but somehow—after their last meeting—he'd come to realize he liked how he felt when he was with Granger. Perhaps that was strange, given how brief that meeting was; given how they'd only been sitting here, now, for an approximate ten minutes.

He smirked.

Her chestnut eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What?"

"Is it odd that we've only just established that this is a date—a _first_ date—and I'm already wondering what the second one will be like?"

Hermione didn't know what to say to that, painfully aware of the blush in her cheeks deepening. It was the way he was looking at her, _definitely_ the way he was looking at her, she thought as she snatched up her glass for a swig. She wasn't certain she'd ever felt her skin warm so much from a simple look, before.

* * *

Scorpius frowned, drumming his fingers against the bar as he watched the slow drip of liquor into his shot glass. "Oh, for Merlin's sake," he hissed, digging a fistful of Galleons from his pocket and tossing them down. "Just leave the bottle."

Eyebrows shooting up, the wizard tending bar counted the coins before setting down the bottle. With a scowl, Scorpius watched the other man as he gathered up the money and turned away to pester some other patron.

He downed the shot, grimacing at the burn in his throat as he refilled his glass. When he'd set out to find this place—on which he was very off about the name, the bar was actually called Witch's Brew—he hadn't planned on drinking, only on socializing. On being around his peers.

But the longer he thought on it, the more he realized he was in no mood for socializing. He'd allowed himself to become attracted to the woman he'd gone to such pains to set up with his father. More than that, she was his teacher, and as old as his parents!

Grinding a fist against one, closed eye in aggravation and self-loathing, he downed the second shot. As he snatched up the bottle to pour a third, he became aware of someone settling on the stool beside his.

"Someone's having a rough night," a vaguely familiar voice said.

Opening his eyes, he turned his head to see Rose Weasley watching him with a single, ginger eyebrow arched. She looked like her mother when she made that face.

"Weasley! Care to join me?"

"First, don't call me Weasley, I hate that. My name is Rose, use it. Second, I think you're having enough for both of us, thanks," she said, the bridge of her nose crinkling.

"Oh, so you mean you're not here to drown your sorrows about _our_ parents venturing out on their first date?"

Rose furrowed her brow, "Well, I didn't say I wouldn't have _a _drink, but shots aren't my thing. Really, I was just bored and thought I'd check this place out, Al was raving about it and . . . ." Her face fell and her dark eyes widened slowly.

"Our parents . . . on a_ date_?"

"That was my reaction." _On the surface, _he thought, winking at her as he downed his next shot. "Cheers!"

Rose's gaze shot to the bottle, and then the glass in his hand before returning to his face. For a long moment she merely stared at him, as though she couldn't make sense of the words he'd spoken.

Her lips folding inward to form a grim line, she turned and slammed a palm against the bar. "We're going to need another shot glass over here!"

Scorpius shook his head, chuckling. When the glass was set down before her, he poured them both a shot.

Visibly bracing herself, she grabbed the glass and knocked it back. She coughed, cringing as she made a cute little hiccuping sound.

He gave her an encouraging pat on the back as he watched her face. "Another?"

Taking a breath, she puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled and nodded. "Hit me again."

His shoulders shook with restrained laughter as he poured her a second shot.

* * *

"How many times can I say I don't want to talk about what being turned into a ferret was like," Draco said, laughing as he shook his head.

Hermione grinned, pushing aside her empty glass for _perhaps_ the fourth time. She'd lost count. When the witch bussing tables hurried over to refill it, Hermione waved her away.

"C'mon, please! I've never gotten to ask anyone what being transfigured against one's will is like!"

The wash of red coloring her cheeks and the way she kept nibbling on her bottom lip were absolutely adorable, and he found himself wondering she'd been this alluring when they were younger. Shaking his head, he took a long swig, finishing the last of his own—fourth or fifth—drink, and pushed the glass away.

"All right, but only because you're drunk and there's a chance you won't remember a word of it."

She shrugged, folding her arms on the table and propping a fist under her chin. "You're drunk, you might forget you told me."

"Touché," he said, laughing. "Okay, so the weird part is, it doesn't feel strange. The horrible thing is not being able to talk . . . you try, 'cause you don't really understand what's happened 'til after you've turned back, but all that comes out are squeaks and gibberish."

Her face scrunched in thought. "Really? I'd have figured the worst part was when you were forced into some chubby bloke's trousers."

Draco cupped a hand over his mouth, chuckling in spite of himself as he shook his head. "Of course, _that'_s what you remember."

She responded with a head shake of her own. "Well, _that _was rather memorable."

"I wasn't even sure where I was, I just knew it was dark . . . and smelly."

Hermione burst out laughing. After a moment, she waved a hand in front of her face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered as she caught her breath.

"No, no . . . if you'd been transfigured into a small, furry beast and forced into your friend's knickers, but all you could remember was a god awful stench, I'd laugh at you, too."

"I've always wondered what it might be like to get in another girl's knickers."

Draco laughed again as his eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. "Honestly?"

She nibbled at her lip and shrugged. "I never said I'd do it, I'm just a naturally curious person."

"Mm-hmm."

"So," she slumped forward a little, picking at the lacquer of the tabletop. "Why did you get divorced?"

Draco furrowed his brow. No one seemed to ask that anymore—most simply said how Astoria was a saint for putting up with a Malfoy for as long as she did.

"I realized I didn't really love my wife," he said, giving a long sigh as he locked his gaze on the lines of the table's wooden surface. "I don't really know how I realized, or when. Simply I couldn't make her happy, and she couldn't make me happy; we _did_ try. I think . . . I think we were both in love with the idea of being in love with someone. If that makes sense."

Hermione nodded, her voice soft, "It does."

He gave a nod of his own. "I knew that wasn't fair to her. The only reason we stayed together as long as we did—that we tried to make a go of it as long as we did—was for Scorpius. But after a time, we both knew that wasn't fair to him, either."

"Does that ever make you sad?"

"Sometimes. Sad at myself, more than anything else." He pursed his lips, tapping a finger against his chin. Damn, liquor was evil. He'd had no intention of spilling his past to her like this, yet here they were. "It's terrible to think you were willing to let someone you care about be unhappy just so you don't have to be alone."

Before Hermione could stop herself, she reached out, placing her hand over Draco's. "But you didn't. You let her go. Is Astoria happier with her life, now?"

He stared at her hand on his for a moment before lifting his gaze to her face. "Yes."

"If someone had told me when we were children that we'd end up _here_, I'd have thought they were barking."

His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he chuckled. "So what about you?"

"What d'you mean, what about me?" She frowned, though her lips felt fuzzy. "I'm widowed, everyone knows that."

"No, I mean, how did it happen?"

Hermione sat a little straighter, thinking on pulling her hand from his. Instead she merely dropped her gaze, tracing the tips of her fingers along he backs of his to distract herself as she spoke. "He . . . became like his father. Fascinated with Muggle things. I think it started back when he and Harry stole that car in second year."

Draco watched the strangely intimate gesture as he forced a gulp down his throat. "I think I heard about that."

She uttered a small laugh. "Who didn't? One thing he always wanted to do was fly in Muggle aircrafts. He even had this funny little check list for all the types he'd experienced . . . ." Her shoulders moved in a weak shrug. "The ones he hadn't gotten to experience, yet. So, anyway, he took a trip on an airplane—going to Germany, of all places. Got there just fine, but on the trip back . . . ." Again she shrugged.

"I'm sorry."

She finally slipped her hand from under his and forced a grin. "I'm fine. Just every now and then, all the things left unsaid weigh a bit heavy on my shoulders."

He made a face, his nose twitching. "My face feels funny."

"That's because you're drunk," she said with a smirk, glad to allow him to change the path of the conversation. Blinking hard a few times, she nodded. "And it's late. Maybe we should call it a night?"

Frowning, he nodded. "So . . . are we going to do this again?"

"I think yes, but since I took charge this time around, the next _date_ falls to you."

"I suppose that's fair," he said in a martyred tone, watching as she tried to stand up from the booth . . . only to fall right back into her seat.

"Granger, you're drunk." He stood and eased his way around the table, holding his hand out to her.

"No," she grasped his hand, "I'm intoxicated. That doesn't necessarily mean the same thing."

Rather than pulling herself up, she tugged on his arm, forcing him—unsteady on his feet, as he already was—to fall down beside her.

He couldn't help a laugh as he met her hazy, mirthful gaze. "Sure, 'cause that just now is something not-drunk people do."

She realized with a start how close his face was to hers now. Closer than the moment before he'd kissed her the other day. She could feel his breath ghosting over her lips and her smile faltered.

"Granger?" he said softly.

Hermione shook her head. "Shut up, Malfoy," she whispered, inching forward to press her mouth over his.

He tilted his head, nibbling on her bottom lip before thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

A small whimper escaped her throat as she shifted closer to him, stroking his tongue with her own. Her arms slid up around his neck, and his hands clamped over her hips in response. As she moved closer, still, trying to pull herself into his lap, she bumped the table, unkindly reminding both of them where they were.

They broke the kiss, staring at one another for a long moment as they caught their breath.

"We could take this as a sign, about things going too fast," she whispered, biting her lip, though she hadn't moved away from him, nor withdrawn her arms from his neck.

Draco nodded, sliding the tips of his fingers beneath her shirt, to trace the bare skin above the waistband of her leggings. "Or we could take it as a sign to go somewhere roomier."

Hermione forced a sigh, her cheeks hot as she nodded. "I think . . . I like your sign better."

He smirked, shifting out of the booth and leading her from the pub by her hand.


	4. New Light

**My other **_**HP **_**Fanfictions:**

_A Night Unfettered_ (Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Dame Blanche _(Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP; _only _on AFF. net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact _(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_ (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor _(Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione) **COMPLETE!**

_The Scavengers _([AU] Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

**NEW! **_Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

New Light

Hermione giggled breathlessly as Draco dipped his head, trailing his lips along the side of her throat. He responded to her laughter by catching her earlobe between his teeth and nibbling.

He made a deep, chuckling sound in the back of his throat at the bashful, hiccuping moan this brought out of her.

They'd stumbled from the Leaky Cauldron, but hadn't made it further than the mouth of the nearest alleyway. As much a testament to their level of intoxication affecting their ability to walk straight, as it was to their ability to see where they were going while kissing and pawing at one another.

"We really should go somewhere indoors, Malfoy," she whispered, though she regretted that her statement caused him to pull his mouth from her skin as he lifted his head to answer.

He bit his lip, holding her gaze as he tested her—how she responded would decide so much. "We can always go back and get a room."

She was temped . . . the Leaky Cauldron was so close, and she wanted to find out of what more his mouth was capable. But the idea of a room at an inn felt . . . _wrong_.

"No, that's . . ." her brown eyes rolled upward as she tried to think of the word—another sign that she'd perhaps drank a little too much, "too transient. We have a muggle cliché for this: my place, or yours?"

Again, he chuckled, uncertain now if he'd have allowed this to proceed any further, had she agreed to the inn. The only thing that kept Draco from allowing his hands to slip beneath her clothes and wander was the notion that they were in public.

"In that case, I take this moment to remind you that I live in a sprawling manor."

Hermione smirked, leaning close so that her lips brushed over his as she said, "A sprawling manor of which I have _terrible_ memories."

Mirroring her expression, he kissed her hard before pulling back enough to meet her gaze. "You won't after tonight."

Hermione's cheeks flooded with warmth. "Promise?"

Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, Draco nodded.

"Okay."

He pulled her closer, but as he was about to apparrate, she gripped her hands around his forearms.

"Wait, wait . . . you can't apparrate us."

Furrowing his brow, he stared at her in silence for a moment. "And why not?"

She relinquished her hold on his arms, instead bunching her hands in his shirtfront, unable to help herself from pressing her body more tightly to his, still. "You're drunk. We might end up on the roof or something!"

Her hips shifted against him and he froze, groaning. "Keep that up, we may never leave this alley. You're so insistent you're not as drunk as I am, you do it."

Hermione gasped in delight feeling through their clothes that he was hard. "All right, fine. Careful you don't let me go."

He only smirked, ducking his head to kiss her as she pulled him with her to Malfoy Manor.

Or attempted to; they landed on their sides on a darkened, dirt-strewn floor.

"Oh, yes," Draco barked the words, laughing, "you're less drunk."

"Well, it's not a roof." She scrambled, unsteadily, to her feet and helped him up. "Where are we?"

"Garden shed—got us to the Manor grounds, I'll give you that."

Still holding one of his hands, she took hold of his other and guided it around her waist, drawing their bodies together, once more. "Well, then, Draco Malfoy, I think you'd better show me what part of the Manor you had in mind."

* * *

Scorpius tipped his head to one side as he trailed after Rose. The redheaded girl was up on her toes, her arms held out to her sides to balance her as she walked along a cement lip rounding a garden.

She was singing off-key, but he didn't recognize the lyrics. "What song is that?"

"I don't remember the title, but it's by a muggle band my mum fancies."

He smirked, stuffing his fists into his pockets. "Oh? And the original singers sound like pissed alley cats, too?"

"Hmph, I do not sound like an alley cat." She hit the edge of the lip and stopped, turning—wobbling, but careful—to start back the other way.

Arching a brow, Scorpius reached out, catching her wrist as it neared his face. Apparently, Rose Weasley lost _all_ sense of spatial awareness when inebriated. "Perhaps not, but you certainly are pissed. I thought I was walking you home."

Her dark eyes rolled. "A girl can't take a detour?"

He silently held her gaze.

She slumped, putting the arm he held, still, at an awkward angle. "Okay, _maybe_ I forgot what we were doing."

Scorpius chuckled, shaking her wrist gently. "You don't drink much, do you?"

"No. You had more to drink than me, why are you sober?"

"I'm not, I just—"

She attempted to leap down, but stumbled as her feet hit the ground unsteadily. He caught her, forcibly holding back a laugh as he pulled her up on the very tips of her toes, so they were eye-level.

"As I was saying. I'm not sober, I just hold myself together well."

Crinkling the bridge of her nose, she grinned at him. "Why? That sounds boring."

He smirked, his head tipping back a bit as he lowered his gaze to her lips for a long moment, before returning to her eyes. "Because if I didn't, I might give into the notion running around my head to toss you over my shoulder, find the nearest dark corner, and do mind-numblingly pleasant, yet unspeakable, things to you."

Rose pouted, stepping back from him as she turned on her heel, but caught his hand in hers as she started walking. "I know when I wake up in the morning, I'm going to look back and_ really_ appreciate your decision." She halted briefly, tilting her head back against his shoulder. "Though, at this very minute, I have to tell you I think great self-control _stinks_."

When she started forward again, he held back a moment, allowing enough space between them that his gaze could wander over her from behind. He sighed wistfully, drifting forward to fall into step beside her.

"Believe me, so do I."

* * *

Draco wasted little time, undressing Hermione the moment the door to his bedroom was closed behind them.

Though she was nervous, her cheeks flushed and her fingers trembling a little as she held his shoulders for balance, she allowed him to disrobe her completely. There was something so strangely arousing to her about being naked before him as he remained fully clothed.

Slipping his hands over her hips, he turned her, guiding her to walk backward until she bumped the bed.

She sank back, forcing a gulp as he pushed her to lie down.

Leaning over her, he thrust his tongue between her lips, pressing himself between her thighs.

Shuddering, she broke the kiss, gasping as she reflexively titled her pelvis, rocking against him. He stilled above her, and for a long moment, she simply stared up into his eyes. His pause made her suddenly fearful that he was about to change his mind.

"Are you frightened?" His voice was soft against the silence of the room.

Hermione bit her lip, offering a pained smile. "A little. It's been a while."

He nodded, offering one of his trademark smirks. "Me, too."

That simple knowledge relaxed her a little. She leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

Draco knelt up on the bed as he took hold of her wrists and guided her arms over head, wrapping her hands around the bars of the headboard. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a finger against her lips as he shook his head.

Letting out a trembling breath, she watched him as he moved over her again. He ducked his head, brushing his lips down her throat and along her collarbone, before he shifted lower, catching one of her nipples between his teeth. The tip of his tongue flicked and swirled over the quickly hardening bit of flesh. It was all she could do not to let go of the headboard and grip her fingers into his hair.

He moved onto her other breast, before going lower, still, dragging his tongue and his teeth down her abdomen and lower, stopping to teasingly kiss her navel—drawing a breathless giggle from her. Slipping his hands between her thighs, he parted her delicately.

Hermione shivered, equal parts anxious and nervous. She wanted to watch him, but couldn't bring herself to, allowing her eyes to drift closed and letting her head fall back at the first sweep of his tongue over her.

Draco moved carefully, undressing as he lapped and suckled at her. She writhed beneath him, and he gently grazed the very edges of his teeth against the little bead of flesh. He slid one arm up, around her and the other . . . .

She gasped, rocking her hips as he entered her with two fingers. The motions of his hand were quick and hard, and she couldn't help a moan, arching her back as she moved against him.

Groaning, he lifted his head, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her in place of his tongue. "I'm sorry, Granger," he said in a gruff whisper. "But I don't think I can wait."

Opening her eyes, she looked down, meeting his gaze. The expression on his face, the haze in his eyes, made her understand. "It's okay," she smiled, "I'll take it as a compliment."

"It is," he said with a chuckle as he withdrew his fingers and crawled over her.

She raised up a little, dropping kisses on his chest as he positioned his length, pushing only the head inside her. Instantly she tensed, bracing herself.

He pressed his hips forward, sinking into her deep, and slow, until he was buried, entirely. Withdrawing and pressing forward again, he continued moving gently until she finally relaxed beneath him.

"I'm okay," she said, breathless, tightening her fingers around the bars and raising her legs around his hips.

Draco smirked, pulling out of her almost entirely, before thrusting forward, fast and hard again and again.

Hermione screamed behind clenched teeth, throwing her head back as she moved beneath him, rocking her pelvis to meet his motions. She felt her body going taut, already, and forced her muscles to tense further, bringing her right to the edge.

He growled as her body clenched around him, tight, and warm, and wet. She was trying not to moan, clamping her lips shut, and instead emitting little pleading sounds in the back of her throat as she came. He lowered his face to her throat, raking his teeth against her skin as he held back his body's response.

Hermione's orgasm ebbed and she rocked against his motions once more, delicious aftershocks tearing through her. He was still going; still jerking his hips, hard and sharp to thrust into her.

Nearly before she realized, she was on the verge, again.

Draco held back, waiting until she was tense and shuddering beneath him for the second time before he gave in, allowing himself release. He thrust into her harder, and harder, until he stilled, uttering a pained groan.

She crossed her ankles behind his back, moving her hips to work herself around him, keeping his length sliding into her until he was completely spent.

He withdrew slowly and turned onto his back beside her. For a long moment, neither spoke, they merely lay there, listening to each other catch their breath.

Hermione rolled onto her side to face him, propping herself up on her elbow. There was a bit of a dazed look on his face.

"What is it?" she asked, a suspicious half-smile curving her lips.

Draco tipped his head to one side as he held her gaze. "I . . . I think I'm in shock. I mean, I just shagged Hermione Granger. Can't say that's a thing I ever thought would happen."

She bit her lip, unable to help her now-sobering thoughts from taking a serious turn. "Do you want me to stay, or leave?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, Malfoy," she said softly. "If this was one-off and you want me to leave, then say so. It's okay."

"And if I ask you to stay?"

She shrugged, looking away. "Then it means something more, because that means you're comfortable with the idea of waking up tomorrow with me still in your bed."

He shifted to mirror her position and reached out, tracing a fingertip along her lips. "Well, what do you want?"

"I . . ." her eyes drifted closed as she thought about that. Barring the alcohol, she liked how she felt when she was with him . . . he made her smile, and it felt as though she'd not genuinely smiled in _so_ long. "I want this to have meant more to you."

Draco smirked, but didn't reply until she opened her eyes and brought her gaze back to his. He leaned close, his lips brushing over hers as he said, "Then stay."

Smiling, she slid her arms around his neck, pulling him on top of her as she rolled onto her back, once more. "Okay."

* * *

"All right," Scorpius said, giving Rose a shake. She was draped across his back, her arms loose around his shoulders, and his own arms looped back, under her thighs to support her.

He couldn't rightly recall how she'd gotten there. Perhaps he was too distracted with the thought that her bottom was _right_ there, right near his hands. He could easily cup his palms beneath her under the guise of keeping her better balanced.

He bit hard into his lip, reminding himself that they were drunk, and he didn't want to start anything he'd regret in the morning.

"Weasley!"

"Told you to call me _Rose_," she muttered sleepily, her words slurred and her lips brushing his ear as she spoke.

He stiffened, forcing a breath as he pushed away the tingling warmth that washed through him at the sensation of her warm mouth against his skin."Fine, Rose, we're here."

Lifting her head, she squinted at the building before them. "Oh!" She toppled off of him, surprising him this time, as she actually managed to land on her feet.

Turning to look at him, she smiled. "This was fun." He made a face and she hurried on, "I meant talking with you, not the sloppy-drunk, 'needed a chaperon just to walk a straight line' part. Maybe we could . . . I dunno, do it again, sometime. Without the alcohol."

He made another face.

Her dark eyes rolled, the lids fluttering. "Okay, with not as _much_ alcohol."

Scorpius cracked a grin. "Now you're talking."

"Goodnight, Scorpius. Thank you for seeing me home."

He watched as she fumbled to unlock the door and pushed it open.

"Wait, all this, and I don't at least get a good night kiss?"

Her perfect little mouth pulled to one side as she thought. "Oh, well, I suppose."

Stepping close, he leaned in. At the last second, Rose bounced up on the balls of her feet and pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Good night!"

Chuckling in spite of himself, he stared at the door for a long time after she disappeared behind it. He turned on a heel, strolling in a random direction.

Perhaps this was exactly what he'd needed. There was something about Rose . . . . Her dark eyes, the sound of her laughter still in his ears, the way she fit against him . . . . Yet there was more to it than that.

There was _something_ about the girl that just made her seem perfect to him, only he couldn't put his finger on exactly what that was.


	5. Momentary Misgivings

**Note Added 9/14/14: Thank you to waterflower20 for the note on an oversight about a canon reference, the issue has been resolved accordingly. :)**

* * *

**Thank you all for so very patiently awaiting the update for this fic. I'm so sorry, but with so many stories running concurrently (and a few new ones I couldn't help starting since posting Chapter Four), it sometimes takes a while to update particular fics, or even to get the plunnies for those fics to cooperate long enough to get the latest bit of the story out of them.**

* * *

**My other ****_HP _****Fanfictions****:**

_A Night Unfettered_ (Dramione [**One-Shot**, Lemon])

_Dame Blanche _(Dramione/Harmione [possible Drarry])

_Distractions_ (Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP; _only _on AFF. net])

_Hermione Granger and the Chaos Artifact _(Dramione/Harmione/Drarry)

_Lessons in Hedonism_ (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP; _only_ on AFF. net])

_Nights at Malfoy Manor _(Dramione/Bits of Lumione/Hints of Harmione) **COMPLETE!**

_The Scavengers _([AU] Dramione) **COMPLETE!**

_Silver Blood_ ([DARK FIC] Dramione/Harmione)

**NEW!** _Tourniquet_ (Lumione/Dramione)

_Unnatural Magick_ ([AU] Harmione/Dramione in Flashbacks)

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Momentary Misgivings

Scorpius awoke rather reluctantly, as though he was having some internal argument with his own body. Maybe, he thought, if he kept his eyes squeezed shut, if he didn't move a muscle, he might be able to trick himself into thinking he was still asleep, allowing him to drift seamlessly back into slumber.

Of course, given how very much he'd had to drink last night, he thought perhaps he should simply be grateful he wasn't suffering a hangover.

He shifted, unable to actually force himself to stay still long, at all. His sleeve caught under his shoulder as he turned onto his side, bringing the fabric up beneath his chin.

A light, flowery scent drifted from the shirt to tickle at his nose. Frowning thoughtfully, he grabbed a fistful of it and pulled the material toward his face for a better whiff.

He realized that was probably Rose Weasley's perfume from when he carried her to her flat last night. _She wears _rose_-scented perfume . . . ._

"Cute," he said, chuckling.

Though, the memory made him wonder, if perhaps he shouldn't have been such a gentleman last night. Perhaps, if he hadn't . . . . He'd have woken up in Rose's bed, rather than his own.

Groaning, he rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into his pillow.

_Dear Merlin, I'm an idiot._

* * *

Images chased through her head of the night before, scattered and disjointed. There was a sharp throbbing behind her eyes and she dreaded to open them . . . .

Merlin's bread, she'd had _so_ much to drink, she was surprised she remembered anything at all. But then she was such a lightweight, she thought it hardly a surprise that she would wake with one of those terrible hangovers about which she'd heard so very much from her friends.

Grumbling something unintelligible even to her own ears, she pulled a pillow down over her eyes. The events of last night shuffled into order, and she remembered . . . . Oh, dear, had she really only made it home because Scorpius Malfoy had lumbered through town with her across his back, like he was some two-legged pack mule?

A giggle erupted from her at the thought of what they must've looked like last night. The bubbly sound quieted just as fast and she winced, slipping her hands beneath the pillow to press the tips of her fingers against her temples.

Wait . . . hadn't she . . . .

She chewed on her bottom lip a moment. Hadn't she made a date with Scorpius? Nothing set in stone, but . . . she'd asked, he'd agreed.

Yes, she certainly _had_ asked him on a date!

Despite the grueling discomfort pressing against the backs of her eyeballs, Rose smiled. Scorpius Malfoy, son of the man her mother was dating.

"My mum's going to kill me," she said in delicate whisper, holding in another laugh.

* * *

Ginny came into the house, unusually bright and chipper for so early in the morning. She made these trips to the nearby market every Saturday morning, but a smile didn't grace her lips until after she'd settled back home with a good, strong cup of coffee in her hand.

Harry looked up from the article he was skimming in the Daily Prophet, one eyebrow arching up over the wire rim of his glasses. His wife didn't so much as grin before 11 AM, let alone hum under her breath, as she was doing now.

"What's got you all cheery?"

As she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across the table from him, she grinned. A beautiful, ear-to-ear expression . . . .

_That_ startled him; he knew her too well. That grin wasn't just mirth at work, he knew Ginny's looks. No, that was the face of mischievous delight.

"Well, as I was going about my shopping, I ran into Susan Bones. . . . You remember her from Hogwarts? She was in your year."

Harry nodded, suspicious as he set down his newspaper and clasped his hands on the table before him. He wondered if he should brace himself for whatever his most beloved witch was building up to.

"She was meeting some friends at the Leaky Cauldron last night, and you're never going to guess what she saw. Hermione and _Draco Malfoy_ stumbling out of the place, all over each other."

Cringing, he picked up his newspaper and went back to reading. Though, it was more of following the print with his gaze, as the letters lost their meaning for a moment. Certainly, Hermione going on a date with the Slytherin prince had been _his_ idea, sort of, but that still didn't quite prepare him for the mental picture of his best friend climbing _all over_ the man.

"And that's why you're like this?"

"Yes. I say good for her! Merlin knows I'm not Malfoy's biggest fan, but he's always done right by his son, from what I've heard, so he can't be _all_ bad. And besides," she turned her attention to snatching a slice of buttered toast from his plate and taking a nibble of it before continuing. "She deserves this after what she's been through, don't you think? If she's happy, then I'm happy _for_ her."

Once more Harry met his wife's gaze, and once more, he arched a brow at her.

Her grin whittled down into an amused smirk as she mirrored her husband's expression. "Even if I can't understand the appeal."

"And_ that_ sounds more like my wife," he said, lifting his cup in a mock-toast.

* * *

Hermione stretched, slow and languid, her eyes blinking open. The unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across her waist as she lay on her side was not at all an unwelcome thing as she shifted, turning to lay on her back.

She bit her lip as she traced the features of his slumbering face with her gaze. Yet, he didn't give her much time to do so—rather like a large cat, he used his arm on her to pull her close and buried his face against the side of her neck.

Letting out a giggle, she slapped at his arm. "You weren't actually sleeping, were you?"

Draco made a little rumbling sound in the back of his throat, his lips moving against her ear as he said in a murmur, "Who's to say I'm not sleeping now?"

A tired grin spread across her lips as she wiggled her body, snuggling tighter into his embrace. "I could always pinch you and we can find out."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her throat. "Or _not_, thank you, very much. Such a violent thing you are."

Shifting to raise up onto his elbow, he looked at her. He loosened the arm at her waist and lifted his hand, a thoughtful expression coloring his features as he trailed the tips of his fingers along the scar on her throat.

The sudden change in his face concerned her. "Draco?"

"I don't understand," he said, his voice soft. "Why didn't you ever use magic to rid yourself of this thing?"

She swallowed hard at his tone—he sounded angry and sad, and somehow . . . somehow that hurt. "Why would I?"

His eyes clouded. "Again, I don't understand. Isn't it just a constant reminder of what you went through?"

Lifting a hand, she pushed away his fingers. "Yes, it is. And that's exactly the point of why I keep it." She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and gripping the end of the mattress, tight. "There are always going to be people who can't abide that the brightest witch of the age is a muggleborn. People who look at me, even after everything I've done, and all they can think are the words _filthy _. . . _little . . . mudblood_."

Draco shook his head, unclear why anyone would want to hang on to such a ghastly reminder of _anything_. "But—"

"I'm okay with my scar, Draco," she said, meeting his gaze over her shoulder. "It's part of me. Maybe . . . maybe you're the one who's not okay with it."

He started, recoiling a bit. "_What_?"

Biting her lip, she turned, pulling up one leg so she could face him, fully. "That's what this is about, isn't it? Not whether or not I can bare looking at my scar, but whether or not you can. It's a reminder of what your family did to me."

Draco couldn't bring himself to voice a response. He only looked at her, blinking as he held her gaze.

"I see." Hermione nodded, rising from the bed.

He caught her wrist. "Wait, please; just . . . listen." Pausing for moment, he forced a calming breath. "When I look at that scar, it's not that my aunt gave it to you that upsets me . . . ."

She stilled, dropping her gaze to the floor as she waited for him to continue.

Grey eyes drifted closed as he shook his head. God, he didn't think he'd ever have to say the words aloud, but it was either that, or watch her walk out the door. "It reminds me that I didn't do anything to stop it."

The tense set of her shoulders eased and she turned, slowly, to look at him.

"I stood there and _let_ that happen to you."

Her brow furrowing, she fell back onto the bed in a sitting position. "Draco," she shook her head, trying to sort out her thoughts. It was sweet, and unexpected, that this was eating away at him after all this time, but he clearly didn't realize that she was as fully cognizant of the situation that day as he'd been.

She turned her wrist in his loose grasp, pulling his hand between both of hers. "There wasn't anything you could've done. Your aunt was, as muggles say, _bat-shit crazy_."

He chuckled in spite of himself.

"She had _no_ tolerance for blood-traitors, which was what she'd have seen you as, had you so much as tried to say a word to stop her. She might've even killed you, or tortured you, right along side me to prove a point."

"Maybe," a half-smile tugged one corner of his mouth upward. "But . . . at least you'd have thought better of me all these years."

She couldn't help a giggle. Her eyes rolled at her own outburst, unable to believe how worked up she'd gotten so easily. But then her scar, and everything it stood for to her, was a big deal.

She simply hadn't expected that it would be a big deal to him, for his own reasons.

"I should probably tell you that I stopped using the word mudblood when we were still in Hogwarts."

A surprised smile played on her lips. "When _exactly_?"

He dropped his gaze to their clasped hands. "Middle of fourth year."

"Middle of fourth—"

"The Yule Ball," Draco said, chuckling at her momentary dazed expression. "And I know it probably sounds shallow, but I saw you that night, coming into the Great Hall, and I thought 'sweet Merlin, that's what she really looks like? I'm _clearly_ not paying attention; might be time to rethink how I act around her.'"

Laughing and shaking her head, she released his hand to lean into him, cupping his face as she kissed him. Just as quickly, she shot back, yelping.

"What's wrong now?" His brow furrowed as she watched her dive beneath the covers.

She gnawed her bottom lip as she looked over at him, all the while fussing to tuck the blankets under her arms. "I just realized . . . we're having this conversation _completely_ naked."

Biting back a grin, Draco dropped his gaze into his lap . . . his very bare lap. His shoulders shook in silent laughter as he returned his attention to the suddenly shy witch in his bed. "Even after last night?"

"Yes, even after last night," she echoed, despite her smile. "I haven't changed _that_ much since we were kids."

"If it'll make you feel better, I'll put something on. Are you staying for breakfast?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Breakfast?"

"Breakfast," he said, nodding as he stood from the bed and started toward the wardrobe. He looked at her over his shoulder, winking as he said, "And then maybe we can pick up where we left off when you fell asleep on me."

Hermione gasped, feigning indignation. "Fell asle—I most certainly did not!"

* * *

Scorpius managed a sleepy frown as he sauntered down the main staircase hours after he'd first tried to convince himself he wasn't awake, yet. It had to be late afternoon, by now.

The sound of female laughter echoing lightly from the foyer rang in his ears, and he paused. That sounded familiar. Frowning, he edged toward the railing and crept a few steps further down.

He peered out from around the curve of the wall as the staircase opened out onto the first floor. His father stood in the foyer entrance . . . .

With Professor Hermione Granger in his arms.

Again, she gave that light, musical laugh. Scorpius had no idea she could sound like that, so . . . so carefree. So _young._

"Draco, please," she said, her voice soft. "I have to go."

Draco chuckled. "Like you had to three hours ago?"

A smile broke across her face. "Yes, but now I _really_ have to go."

"Are we going to do this again?"

"How can you even ask that? Of course we are, but like I told you last night, planning the second date is _your_ job."

And then—after a parting kiss—she was out of his arms, and drifting through the doors.

Scorpius tried to force a smile onto his lips. He should be pleased that his father was finally happy. Pleased, as well, that Professor Granger was happy. Even more than pleased. Elated, perhaps, because _he_ was responsible, even if neither of them knew that.

Yet, as he turned on a heel and started back for his room, all he felt was cold and sick.


	6. Sparks & Misery

*******Note**: For story purposes, Lily Luna Potter (though she doesn't make any actual appearances) goes by the name Lily-Luna, rather than simply Lily, in this fic.

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**Next on the Update List****: **_**Unnatural Magick**_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Sparks &amp; Misery

Fiddling with her utensils, Hermione looked up again. And again, Ginny dropped her gaze, a small smile curving her lips as the two sat at their usual table for Sunday brunch.

They'd started the brunches after Ron's funeral, and kept them up at Ginny's insistence. Every woman needed uncomplicated time to simply unwind in the company of another female, she'd said, making their weekly get-togethers a strictly _no-boy_ affair. Sometimes Rose joined them, and Lily-Luna—though the later was currently studying abroad at her Aunt Fleur's alma mater, _Beauxbatons_, and the former was on a day-trip to Hogwarts, visiting with Hugo. Today, it was just them.

And Ginny intended to use the privacy to her advantage.

The small grin lifting the corners of her mouth broadened just a little as she darted her gaze away for what she knew would be the final time. Hermione could only take so much silliness, after all.

Setting down her menu with a resounding _snap,_ the brunette's eyebrows lifted. "What is it, Ginny?"

Ginny spared a moment to sip her iced tea before she said, "Well, yesterday morning I ran into someone who'd been at The Leaky Cauldron on Friday night. You'd never guess what they saw!"

With a wince, Hermione nodded. "So you heard about Draco and me, then?" She'd hoped it _hadn't_ been all over Wizarding Britain by the next morning, but . . . well-known pub, Friday night . . . . She supposed this was bound to happen.

Nodding, Ginny's expression lost some of its brightness as she leaned over the table a bit. "And quite frankly I'm a bit upset with you. Honestly! Going to Harry instead of me about dating a new man!"

Hermione couldn't help a laugh. Ginny had gotten a bit protective of her after Ron's death, but that she wasn't truly—spitting tacks and fiery-eyed—angry meant she was all right with whatever she'd heard had happened.

"It wasn't like that." She paused long enough to call over their server and ask for coffee. "I was only talking it out with Harry because . . . well, it's Malfoy!"

Ginny's eyes roved the ceiling as she thought that over. "Well, okay, fine. I suppose that makes sense. Still," she said, shrugging, "next time you talk to me, first. So . . . will there be a second date?"

Hermione nodded, biting her lip as she darted her gaze about the café. "Yes. Don't tell Harry, yet. I want just a few days of peace and quiet before he has another meltdown."

"Sure. He's still a bit tightly wound about that first date, after all." Her expression tightening into a sudden, suspicious scowl, Ginny edged, "Wait, did you and Malfoy . . . ?"

The blush that immediately flooded her sister-in-law's cheeks was all the response Ginny needed.

"Oh my God, you did!"

Hermione couldn't help an embarrassed laugh as she nodded. For heaven's sake, what was it about this situation that was making her feel like some teenager in the throes of puppy-love?

Ginny couldn't believe she was asking, but the words tumbled from her lips, all the same. "How—how was it?"

Slumping back in her chair, Hermione let out a breath as she said in a whisper, "It was actually pretty _bloody_ amazing."

Jaw dropping, the redhead burst out in surprised laughter. "Really?"

Finally deciding she didn't feel like having the entire night slowly dragged out of her, Hermione told Ginny as much of what had happened as she could manage without her cheeks turning redder than the other witch's hair.

By the end, Ginny's face looked ready to explode. "You—you stayed the night, had a serious talk, _and_ breakfast? So . . . you two are already, like, a thing?"

Hermione hadn't actually thought about it, but hearing the other woman say the words set off a giddy bloom of warmth in the center of her chest. "I suppose we are."

Nodding, Ginny at last picked up her menu and started looking over the selections. "So," she asked, her eyebrows lifting a little, "if you stayed the entire night—and apparently some of the next day—how many times did you two—?"

Hermione giggled, cutting the question short, and ducked behind her own menu as she replied, "Oh, no! _That_ you're not getting out of me."

* * *

"Oy, that's a miserable expression," Torin Zabini said in way of greeting when he glimpsed Scorpius' face in the corridor on Monday.

Scorpius tried to force a smile into place, but it fell flat. He didn't want to be sour. Honestly, he had better things to do than grouse inwardly all day, didn't he?

He eyed the classroom door for a quiet moment. For the first time all semester, he actually didn't want to go in there.

"What're you doing here?" Scorpius asked, a bit grateful for the sidetrack.

Torin waved a package and shrugged. "Dropping something off to my dad. Seriously, you okay? You look like someone just murdered your favorite house elf."

"I just . . . ." The pale-haired young man sighed and offered a shrug. "D'you remember how you used to get crushes on girls who didn't know you were alive all the time?"

Expression hardening, Torin said, "Oy! That was before the growth spurt, thanks very much!"

"Sorry," his friend said with a cringe; he hadn't meant to be insulting. "Anyway . . . how did you deal with it?"

Giving a shrug of his own, Torin looked thoughtful for a moment. "Um, you just have to accept that they're not interested and move on. Just a heads up, the process can be a right bloody nightmare, sometimes."

"You're right, of course." He knew his friend was correct, there was nothing else to be done for it. He just wasn't certain he could manage while watching her teach five days out of every week.

Torin's dark, perfectly arched brows drew together over rich, deep-set jet eyes as he let Scorpius' words sink in. Scorpius who _never _had trouble with girls. "Wait, wait . . . are you telling me that there's a girl who—"

"Scorpius, there you are!"

Torin blanched and Scorpius turned toward the familiar voice calling his name. Rose Weasley was jogging down the corridor toward them, smiling and looking . . . just a little bit like a breath of fresh air. Her fitted sable turtleneck and pleated mini-skirt certainly helped.

"Rose! Um . . . hullo. Visiting your mum?"

"No, I'm actually just running a bit late. I was hoping to catch you before her class started but—"

The chime sounded, signaling the start of session and she frowned, shaking her head. "Dammit. All right, sorry. Um, listen, I have some errands to run anyway, but you want to pop into the café across the street after your class? I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Uh . . . ." Scorpius' eyebrows drew together in question as he nodded. "Sure, okay."

"Okay," she echoed before nodding toward the door. "You should get in there, before my mum absolutely murders you for being late, as an example to the rest of the class."

As he gave another nod, she stood on her toes, peering over his shoulder. She smiled brightly and waved. "Oh, hi Torin!" She met Scorpius' gaze, once more. "Okay, later, then."

Like that, she spun on a heel and was off, again. With a world-weary sigh, Scorpius disappeared—albeit reluctantly—into Professor Granger's classroom.

His broad shoulders slumping as his face fell, Torin muttered to the now-empty corridor, "Hi, Rose."

* * *

Scorpius watched Professor Granger throughout the lesson. He jotted down every word she said, copied every incantation she put on the board.

He couldn't _not_ focus on the actual lesson. Not when, even as he tried to ignore the impression, he couldn't shake the awareness of how much lighter and happier she seemed. As though the feeling was simply something hanging in the air around her.

She was simply _brighter_, and the sense did her justice. The woman had been beautiful before, but now she was absolutely breathtaking.

The woman _was_ happy, and he knew precisely why. He tried, again, to be happy for her; to be pleased with himself for making it so.

Yet all he felt was a ball of jagged ice twisting in the pit of his stomach.

Every now and then she glanced at him. He could only hold that warm, chestnut gaze for a few seconds before he dropped his attention to the parchment scroll before him.

Honestly, why did she keep looking at him? For months he'd been giving her a hard time in classes and she'd mostly excelled at ignoring him. But today? Today he wasn't making any faces, wasn't giving her _any_ sort of difficulty. _Today_ all he wanted was to sink back and blend into the wood work so that she might overlook him.

And yet, it seemed she couldn't just go right on ignoring him.

* * *

Hermione arched a suspicious brow as she eyed Scorpius for the final time as the chime signaling the end of lessons sounded. He was . . . so very unlike himself, today.

She couldn't help worrying that something was wrong.

He shuffled his things away into his bag and stood. Yet as he started for the exit, following the stream of students, his footsteps dragged and his lanky frame was slumped a bit. Hermione _knew_—too well, in fact—that Malfoys didn't slouch unless something in their world was out of order.

"Scorpius?"

His shoulders bunched and he turned on a heel to meet her gaze. For a moment it seemed like he wouldn't speak, but then he forced out the words, "Yes, Professor?"

She only _just_ barely stopped herself from backpedaling so that she might give him a full once-over. Something was _definitely_ upsetting Scorpius Malfoy today.

"Do you have a moment?" she asked, keeping her voice light as a gentle smile curved her lips.

Squaring his jaw, the young man swallowed hard as his expression soured. He simply wanted to get out of there. Rose was waiting for him and he wanted to see her; wanted to let that brilliant, airy spark that she had distract him from this mess.

"I've got plans, actually," he said shortly. "So if you could make this quick?"

Her bright expression lost a bit of its luster at his tone. Immediately he regretted lashing out in this way—how he felt wasn't her fault, after all—but he couldn't bring himself to apologize, nor even to soften the scowl coloring his features.

He thought maybe he wanted her to believe he was angry with her. Perhaps he wanted her to start disliking him, a bit.

Her brow furrowed and she took a tiny step back. "Sorry, I won't keep you long."

Grey eyes narrowed as he shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, then?"

Hermione bit her lip, finding herself strangely put off by his icy attitude. Shaking her head, she forced her smile to remain in place. He was her student, not her equal—she'd leave out the_ boyfriend's son_ bit for the moment—he shouldn't be able to get to her like this. She shouldn't be _allowing_ him to get to her like this.

"Okay, fine. What is wrong with you today?"

His eyebrows shot up. "With all due respect, Professor, I've not the foggiest idea what you mean. I've been a perfectly well-behaved student today."

She nodded, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

The nervousness of the gesture caught him off-guard. Since when was she ever nervous when speaking with a student?

"That'd . . . that'd be my point, Mr. Malfoy. This is the first day you've ever behaved as a perfect student." The way he bit into his bottom lip and darted his gaze briefly to the floor let her know he was giving in, if only a little. "So I'm simply asking you what's wrong?"

He wanted to cave, to apologize for trying to make her feel unsettled. Could that be it? Did he simply want to rain on her parade because seeing her happy was making him more miserable, somehow?

Yet even having this realization, he couldn't stop the words from tumbling out, "Sorry, Professor, I guess I'm a bit distracted. I mean, knowing your teacher is shagging your dad will do that to someone."

Her chestnut eyes shot wide and her jaw dropped as she scrambled for something to say. She and Draco had agreed not to tell their children until they were certain what was happening between them—at the very least, not give away how serious they'd become over what was really the course of a single night.

Immediately he regretted blurting that out, but he could hardly take it back. It really was better if she simply thought he hated her, wasn't it? Maybe better if she hated him, too.

"How did you—"

He cut off her question with a harsh laugh. "Came down the stairs on Saturday afternoon to see my dad walking you out."

"Well, I—"

"Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned on a heel and continued to the door. "See you tomorrow, Professor," he called over his shoulder as he stepped through.

Her shoulders drooped and shook her head, only able to watch the doorway for a long while after.

* * *

Sighing heavily as she turned onto her block, she found that she didn't feel much better about the situation than she had when she'd exited the school building. A long walk in the warm, bright afternoon air she'd thought would help clear her mind.

Hermione kept in a groan, frowning as she dug her keys from her purse. She'd thought that she and Scorpius had a fantastic rapport . . . after all, it was he who'd encouraged her to send Draco that invitation in the first place. Did he hate that his teacher was dating his father?

Or did he hate _her_?

With another sigh, she decided to put it out of her mind. Forcefully and with a great amount of effort. As she climbed the steps to her front porch, she noticed a scroll tucked into the handle of the screen door.

Brow furrowing, she plucked the scroll free and carefully unfurled it. As it opened in her hands, she read the words, _About that second date . . . ._ Her expression pinched as she looked for the rest of the message.

There, at the very bottom, it continued . . . . _Maybe you ought to just turn around. I'm terrible at planning things._

Her eyebrows shooting up, she pivoted to face the street. At the bottom of the steps, Draco stood. And in his hands . . . .

Biting her lip to hold in a surprised—pleased, definitely surprised _and_ pleased—giggle, she tipped her head to one side. "So, this is your idea of a date? Just popping up at my doorstep with flowers and wine?"

Climbing the steps, he arched a brow, but didn't reply until he stood on the step just below her, so they were eye level. His breath ghosted warm over her lips as he said, "Didn't you read the part where it says I'm terrible at planning things?"

"I do hope you're not expecting me to cook for you, or something." Hermione was decent enough in the kitchen, but this was a man raised on house elf cooking.

"No, actually." He smirked as he said, "In deference to your upbringing, I thought we'd practice a Muggle dining convention. I believe its referred to as ordering in? Now, can we go inside? Honestly, I've been waiting her for quite a while, you know."

A smile broke over her face as she nodded slowly. He—pure-blood, Draco _Malfoy_—was willing to try takeout for her?

Nodding, Hermione turned and unlocked the door to lead him into the house. She could get used to this.


	7. Bits of Sweetness

**I wanted to take a second to thank you guys for the love expressed toward the OC Torin Zabini. I wasn't expecting that for such a quick appearance.**

**Also, those on the mailing list, can you please drop me a line to let me know if you've been receiving the emails? If you haven't ('cause I have sent out 3 since starting the mailing list &amp; have made corrections to any addresses that bounced back to me via mailer daemon), you may need to add me to your safe-senders list in your email settings. If you do not have my email address, please mention it &amp; I'll PM you back, or simply PM me directly.**

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**Next to Update****: ****_Unnatural Magick_**

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**Chapter Seven**

Bits of Sweetness

Rose watched the corners of the menu as she picked it up and let it drop back down to the tabletop before her. Scorpius should have been there by now. Certainly she was in no hurry, and he wasn't _late_, or anything, but the school was right across the bloody street. Classes had been over quite long enough.

Frowning, she drummed her fingers and propped her other arm on the table to rest her chin against her palm. "Maybe this was a bad idea, after all," she whispered to herself.

Maybe he'd changed his mind and simply decided not to come after all.

With a sigh, Rose shook her head and bent to pick up her shopping bags.

"Invite me and then try to sneak away? _Rude_."

Scorpius' voice startled her. She gasped, snapping back in her seat to sit upright.

Her dark eyes were enormous in her face as she stared up at him. One would have thought someone had set the straps of her shopping bags ablaze. He pressed his lips into a thin line to hold in a chuckle.

Apparently his bottled expression spoke volumes on its own, because her face soured instantly. "It's not funny. You scared me!"

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head as he stuffed his fists into the pockets of his trousers. "Didn't—didn't mean to. I caught you as you were _leaving_. Does that mean you changed your mind on whatever it was you wanted to talk about?"

"No!" Her voice came out louder than intended and the bridge of her nose crinkled as she mouthed a silent apology at the outburst. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "No. I just thought maybe you weren't coming, so I was simply going to leave and save myself embarrassment of waiting for someone who wasn't coming. And I'm sorry, I'm babbling at you, I do that when I'm nervous. Wait—Oh, God, I'm nervous! Why am I nervous?"

Her once more widened eyes and flushed cheeks as she darted her gaze about the café made for an absolutely adorable and intriguing combination. This time Scorpius allowed his laugh to slip out, hoping it might set her at ease as he took the seat across from her.

She winced as she met his gaze, obviously upset over her behavior. "Sorry, I don't mean to be weird."

He shrugged, reaching over the table to place his hand over hers. The gesture was more to still and calm her than anything, but he couldn't help noting the way she forced a small gulp down her throat. "Considering the longest conversation we've had—that didn't consist of schoolyard insults—was while we were both completely pissed, I'll say I've no idea what you consider _weird_."

Rose perked up at that, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Well, if you want this chat to devolve into schoolyard insults, I'm pretty certain _that_ I can handle."

He felt a little tension drain from him as well as she relaxed visibly. "I think we did enough of that at Hogwarts to last us both a few more years. Now, what did you want to—?"

"Mum?"

Scorpius started at that. A dreadful thought played through his mind that Professor Granger might've followed him—after all, it was_ only_ across the street—to warn Rose away from him. But then he noticed her gaze wasn't on him, nor any area in the café at all, but beyond the wrought-iron partitions, entirely.

"Why does she look like that?"

Rose's voice was soft and tinged with the faintest edge of sadness.

He sank his teeth hard into his bottom lip. He didn't want to turn his head, didn't want to look over his shoulder. If there was anything he cared _less_ about in this world right now, it was whether or not Hermione Granger was upset.

So why was he shifting in his seat to follow Rose's worried gaze?

Professor Granger didn't notice them, at all. She kept shaking her head at whatever she was thinking, folding her lips inward as though to hide a frown. And those huge, dark eyes of hers were narrowed forcibly in thought. Altogether it made for such an unhappy expression . . . . Miles away from the bright woman she'd been when floating about in front of the class less than twenty minutes before.

And he knew exactly what had caused that drastic change in her attitude.

His shoulders slumped. God, he felt like a wretch for how he'd just treated her. She hadn't deserved his bile, at all, had she?

There were sounds of shifting from the opposite side of the table. "I should go see if she's okay."

Before Scorpius could stop himself, he'd whipped around and shot an arm out, once more covering one of her hands with his own. He wasn't certain why he was stopping her, not really. Perhaps he simply didn't want her to know he was at fault for that expression on her mother's face. Maybe he didn't want to know what sort of look Rose would give him then.

"Scorpius, wha—?"

"I know you're worried about her," he said, his voice low and controlled as he shook his head. "But your mother's a grown woman. I'm sure she can handle whatever's bothering her."

She watched helplessly as her mother reached the end of the block and disappeared around the corner. "I . . . I know. You're right. She can handle herself; I just don't like seeing her like that. I worry about her after . . . ."

Rose's unfinished sentence managed to make him feel even lower for his behavior. He was thoughtlessly stomping all over the emotions of a woman who'd already suffered through being widowed, all because _he_ was wounded.

Dear Merlin, he was a shit.

"After your father," he said, nodding as he reached out his other arm, to clasp her hand between both of his. "I'm sorry. You're right, not me. I should've let you go to her."

She laughed, sniffling a little. "Actually, the trouble with my mother is that she's a strong woman and she _knows _it. She hates it when she thinks anyone is babying her—especially if that anyone is _me_."

He bit his lip for a moment as he held her gaze. "Honestly, Rose, it wasn't my place. If you want to go after her, I'll understand."

Shaking her head, Rose smiled. "No. She really wouldn't be happy to realize she was letting her emotions be so obvious."

Still, Scorpius felt himself jarred by the situation. That his ire had actually affected Professor Granger in a lasting way was not something he'd been prepared to consider, let alone to actually _see_.

"So," he said, clearing his throat, "what, uh, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Her eyebrows drew together as she was snapped back to the moment at hand. "Oh, really? I mean . . . you haven't guessed from my fidgeting and nervousness?"

He gave her a clueless expression that brought a giggle out of her. Either he was really not paying attention, or he was deliberately playing coy to _make_ her say it.

"Well . . . ." She dropped her gaze to the menu before her, picking at the corners with suddenly anxious fingertips. "I was thinking about what we said when you so kindly escorted me to my flat the other night. About going out together, sometime, and I was wondering if . . . if you really wanted to?"

Dark eyebrows shooting up into his pale bangs, Scorpius couldn't help a grin of his own. "Oh, so you're asking me on a date?"

Rose shrank back in her seat, embarrassed that he felt the need to clarify her intent. "Um . . . yes?" She sprang forward again, her face scrunched in a pleading expression. "But, you know, if—if you don't want to, that's okay. Honestly, it is. We just had so much fun the other night. I imagine if you don't want to date me, then we could have just as much fun only being friends. I mean unless you don't want us to be friends, either. Which I could understand, given our history and our parents and—"

"Merlin's Beard, woman. You really_ do_ babble when you're nervous."

Rose caught her breath, blushing a bit as she met his gaze. "Sorry. I don't actually know why I'm so nervous. I'm usually quite confident."

He nodded and offered a charming grin as he said, "I know. Sat behind you for the better part of seven years, remember?"

Her shoulders drooped. Of course he should already be well aware she wasn't always like this!

"I'll go ahead and save you another outburst. I think you and I _could_ manage being friends, Rose Weasley." He tipped his head forward, letting the long ends of his bangs fall into his eyes while he held her gaze. "But I'd be _rather_ interested to see where a date might lead."

His tone had dropped to a low, gravelly pitch and Rose inhaled sharply. Hearing his voice like that kicked off the feeling of giddy butterflies zipping around in her belly.

"Oh," she forced herself to say, only to nearly jump at the sound of her own words in her ears. "Well, all right, then."

He finally withdrew his hands, smiling and shaking his head as he picked up the other menu from the side of the table. She took her cue from Scorpius and went back to looking over listed selections.

"Wait."

Rose gave herself a little shake as she looked up at him. Honestly, her nerves had just settled. Was the man trying to give her a heart attack? "Yes, Scorpius?"

"_This_ isn't a date, is it?"

Her brow furrowed. "No. This was just . . . ." She shrugged and tossed a glance about the café. "This was just me wanting a light atmosphere in a public setting so I wouldn't make a fool of myself and panic when I asked you."

Biting his lip, he nodded. "Huh." A grin curving his mouth he said, " And that worked so well, too."

"Scorpius Malfoy, you snarky prat."

By her tone, he nearly thought she was actually upset. But her hiding-a-smile expression said otherwise. He laughed and winked at her. "Might want to get used to that if we're going to be dating."

The smile she was hiding slipped free as she ducked her head behind her menu once more.

* * *

"So this is what Muggles do on a date?"

Hermione had somehow talked her dignified, refined pure-blood boyfriend into laying on the sofa as they waited for an order of Italian food to arrive. She'd thought that would go best with the wine he'd brought—a portion of which was already in two half-full glasses on the coffee table before them.

In truth, between work and two small children at home, she didn't remember many simple moments of lounging quietly in one another's arms like this with Ron. And, well, given Draco's refined, dignified background _and_ his ex-wife's similar upbringing, she imagined he probably hadn't many recollections of times like this, either.

She smiled, snuggling back against him a bit more and enjoying how he reflexively tightened his hold on her. "Sometimes. Sometimes we go out to a restaurant for dinner. Go see a play, or a film; the opera or the ballet, maybe. And sometimes we spoon on a sofa, sipping wine and waiting for a delivery order. Dating amongst pure-bloods can't be that different, can it?"

When he didn't respond, she looked over her shoulder at him.

His expression was one of mild distaste. He never liked it when the way the other-half lived seemed better—or at least more fulfilling—than the way_ his_ half lived. "There's a lot of stuffy dinner parties. Family affairs. Formal dining, where there's just the two of you, yet you're seated at opposite ends of this ridiculously long table."

Hermione snorted a little giggle.

Grey eyes widened in shock at the sound. His eyebrows slowly climbed upward as he waited for her to explain the noise which had just erupted from her face.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just . . . ." She shrugged and turned in his arms to lay on her back. "I grew up seeing things like that on the telly. I always just thought it was the writers of programs on the telly poking fun at the aristocracy. I had no idea people actually did anything so absurd."

He offered a shrug of his own. "You've met plenty of pure-bloods, Granger. You know perfectly well we're a fairly absurd lot."

"That's true," she said with a sigh. With a thoughtful pout, she lifted a finger to trace his lips. "Listen I . . . I need to talk to you about something that happened with Scorpius today."

Draco squared his jaw as his eyes rolled. "Really didn't think that's what you were leading up to. Can we please not talk about your work tonight?"

Hermione sat up, still with that pout on her face. She met his gaze and held it for a long, silent moment.

Groaning, he pulled himself to sit up, as well. "Fine, okay," he said, muttering the words. "What is it?"

"He knows about us." When Draco looked unimpressed with this announcement, she tacked on, "More specifically, he knows we've already slept together."

His jaw dropped. "What! Ho—how did _that_ even come up in a conversation?"

"I don't know, really," she said, shaking her head as she threw up her hands. "He was acting odd in class, so I pulled him aside to ask what was wrong and he just . . . blurted it out. Said he saw you walking me out of the Manor on Saturday. Clearly it wasn't that hard to put two and two together."

He buried his face in his hands. "He didn't say a word to me about it."

Hermione bit her lip, watching his expression for a long moment; watching his posture and the way he seemed to be holding an internal argument. Her heart sank as she wondered if she'd just ruined their date.

Lifting his face to meet her gaze, he gave her a small, but warm smile. "Hey." He raised a hand, cupping her cheek. "I'll speak to him, don't worry about it right now. All right?"

She nodded slipping her fingers up over his. "All right. You know, it's still a bit odd that I'm _dating_ Draco Malfoy."

He chuckled. "Tell me about it."

Her eyes drifted closed as she let him pull her close for a kiss. She gave herself over to it immediately. Tilting her head, she nibbled at his bottom lip before darting her tongue into his mouth to explore and caress.

He made a rumbling sound low in the back of his throat as he slid his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. He loved that her fingers flew directly to the buttons of his shirt.

And then the bell rang.

She broke the kiss with an apologetic laugh. "That'd be the food."

Draco leaned into her, nipping at her mouth as he said, "Maybe I'm just not hungry, anymore."

Though it took serious effort not to let him have his way—thank heavens they'd not dated during their Hogwarts years, or Voldemort might've had a better shot at winning—she slipped from his lap. "I'll only be a moment," she assured him as she straightened her clothes.

He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips as he watched her walk to the door. "Hope you're not very hungry either," he said with a grin, not really concerned with whether or not she heard him. "Looks like it'll be a while before we get to the food."


	8. Complicated Feelings

**I just want to give everyone a head's up: I have so many plunnies building up as I wait to finish my current stories that I may (may) write the opening chapters for a few &amp; post them. Posting them so you guys can get a taste of what's in store when these present fics are completed and so you can see that I'm still about &amp; writing, if there is a delay in updates. However, I don't want anyone to panic, if you see a new story notification, it's likely only me posting that first chapter to a fic; I'm not officially starting a new story, nor will that story be added into the update schedule and cause further delays to the fic(s) you're waiting on.**

**I have also started a secondary writing profile under the name . . . Apocalyptic Freya. If you're wondering what's up with that pseudonym you can ask me in review, or PM or simply refer to my profile page for the explanation. Long story short, I have been struck with a plunnie for something I thought I never would write a fanfic of, but since I've committed myself to writing any plunnie which comes to me, I have no choice. So, since I referred to this as the "Sign of the End Times" plunnie, I decided to go with that in choosing the name of the profile where fics resulting from such plunnies will be housed.**

**That being said, I apologize for the recent delay in updates, I've been familiarizing myself with the canon source material for the Doom Plunnie.**

* * *

**Next to Update****: **_**Unnatural Magick**_

**Chapter Eight**

Complicated Feelings

Hermione stirred, refusing to open her eyes as her clock sounded. She snuggled more tightly against the warmth beside her, muttering something unintelligible.

Draco's soft, sleepy chuckle was right in her ear. "Much as I hate to say this," he said in a murmur, "we should probably get out of bed."

She made another unintelligible sound and pressed her face into the hollow of his shoulder, drawing more laughter out of him.

"Okay, Granger, I'm . . . I'm serious, now." Despite his words, his light tone was hardly that of a man attempting to put his foot down. "We can't both miss a second day of work, can we?"

At that, she lifted her face, balancing her chin delicately on his chest, her wild hair tumbling about as she met his gaze and grinned. "You can, you're wealthy, remember?"

He nodded, smiling back and tapping her nose with the tip of his finger. "You got me there. Perhaps I should have said we _shouldn't_."

She knew he was right. Bad enough that strained moment she'd had with Scorpius the other day, now Draco'd stayed the night—_and_ the following day and night—and she'd not been at the school yesterday. He was a bright young man, but even if he weren't, this was hardly complex mathematics. He'd easily put together his father's absence from home with her absence from class. It wasn't as though they were being incredibly stealthy about things.

She wondered if a reluctance to face the younger Malfoy, knowing what he would believe, knowing that he would be correct in that belief, was a contributing factor to her unwillingness to leave her house and go face the world.

Draco's fingers trailed down the bare skin of her back and she remembered instantly the main reason for not wanting to climb out from beneath her quilt. There was _nothing_ in the world she wanted to do more than spend another day, shamelessly naked in the arms of Draco Malfoy.

She giggled at the thought, feeling her face flood with color.

One of his dark eyebrows arched up into his sleep-mussed, pale hair. "Something amusing in our total lack of responsibility? Though, in my defense, I did send an owl to the Manor yesterday morning that I'd be out for an extended period of time"

Hermione pressed her lips together, taking a moment to compose herself before answering. "No, nothing funny in our joint irresponsibility. Just still thinking over how bizarre this is, you know? _You_ and me?"

He nodded, reaching up to tuck one of her mad, wayward locks behind her ear. "I feel like . . . it's mostly bizarre because it _doesn't_ feel bizarre. Does that make sense?"

She leaned her cheek against his palm as his hand lingered close to her ear. "It wouldn't if I wasn't in this situation with you." Her brow furrowed as her ever-working mind picked apart _this situation_. That first kiss had been barely a week ago, now look where they were. It boggled her mind that she could feel so secure in something that had sprung up so quickly.

The realization of how sudden everything had happened—of her own willful ignorance of that suddenness—caused panic and worry to bleed into her previously blissful expression.

Her look of concern alarmed him, his grey eyes narrowing as he held her gaze. "Granger, what is it?"

She bit her lip for a few, stretched heartbeats as she thought over how to explain a fear of her own feelings. "Well . . . ." Her voice came out weak, and she shook her head, clearing her throat before she tried again. "Well, I know we had a talk at the Manor the other day about us, and that we were both taking this seriously. You still feel that way, right?"

Dark eyebrows shooting up, Draco pointedly darted his gaze about the room—_her_ bedroom, which they'd barely left for a day and a half—and nodded.

She only stared at him as she chewed her lip.

When she didn't say anything further, he asked, "Are you going to tell me what's going on in that brilliant head of yours, or do I have to guess?"

Letting out a sigh, she sagged a little against him. "Okay, I'm . . . scared."

Once more, his eyebrows shot upward. "Yes, this much I can tell for myself, thanks very much. Why?"

She shrugged. "It's just . . . you're divorced, I'm widowed, and this is the first relationship for either of us since those events. I'm starting to worry that . . . ." She let that drop off. She'd been about to say that she was worried they were moving too fast, but that wasn't exactly the case. For whatever strange reason, it didn't feel too fast to her. It felt more like she and Draco had found their own pace that might not quite fit with what _other_ people might think of as normal, or even workable.

"Do you think this is moving too fast?"

He held back the sore inclination to burst out laughing. No, no, he couldn't respond like that, this was obviously upsetting her and she might take a show of amusement the wrong way. But honestly, this was what had her all worked up? Well, she did have a reputation for overthinking, now didn't she?

"No," he said truthfully, his voice soft and low. "It's just felt . . . I don't know, correct, somehow. Do you think it's—?"

"No!" She sighed with relief, a tension she'd not been aware of flooding from her body. "But that doesn't mean I can't wonder, you know, after what we've both been through in our love lives."

Uttering a sigh of his own, he scooped up one of her hands in his and guided to his chest, resting her palm over his heart. "I think perhaps it's _because _of what we've been through that we're letting things happen this fast. Admittedly, we're both older and wiser than we were when we got into those relationships, maybe it's a matter of knowing what we want _and_ understanding that life is short. Shorter now that we're both old."

Her face soured, but it was a clearly forced expression, as she fought not to smile. "We're not _old_, Malfoy."

The corner of his mouth twitched up into his familiar smirk. "Okay, fine, but those two other points remain. There, less worried now?"

"I suppose." Her brows drew together and she tipped her head to one side as she brought her other hand up to trace his currently lopsided lips with the tip of her finger. "What about when the heady energy of being in a new relationship wears off?

She really liked to dissect matters, didn't she? "Um . . . ." His smirk turned into a smile under her caress. "I suppose we get matched arm chairs, set them at opposite ends of the room and grumble unintelligibly at one another over the morning edition of The Daily Prophet."

"Like a proper _old_ couple?" she asked, arching a brow.

He chuckled, nodding. "Exactly."

Once more, her alarm sounded and she rolled her eyes at the chiming. "I suppose if we're going to go face the outside world today . . ." she said with an unhappy sigh as she slid out of his embrace and pushed up to stand.

Frowning thoughtfully, he glanced at the timepiece, noting the hour. "Seems a bit early. Have it set in case you want to catch a little more sleep?"

She nodded as she stretched.

His smile turned into a wicked grin. "Then we still have some time, don't we?"

His hand shot out, latching around her wrist, and she managed a surprised yelp as he yanked her back onto the bed.

* * *

Scorpius took a deep breath, his hand curled into a fist, raised to knock on Professor Granger's door. Yet he couldn't seem to move. He'd sat through class dutifully jotting down everything and causing no trouble or her—a decidedly difficult charade when he was relatively certain _why_ she'd taken yesterday off—and she'd made no move to keep him after class as she had on Monday. But . . . .

His thoughts flashed back to the look he'd glimpsed on her face when he'd been at the cafe with Rose that afternoon. Whatever was going on with the professor and his father was none of his business, and . . . even if it _was _eventually, that didn't excuse that he'd deliberately wounded her, when all she'd been trying to do was talk to him.

She'd been concerned for him and he'd repaid her for that by being a complete wretch to her. That was something he couldn't forgive himself for until he was certain _she _forgave him.

Shaking his head miserably, he steeled his resolve and lightly struck the door with his knuckles.

"Come in," her voice, cheerful as it had been in class, filtered into the corridor.

Giving himself another shake, he gripped the knob and turned, opening the door only enough to poke his head into the room. She was seated at her desk, her attention focused on some scroll open before her.

"Professor, do you have a moment?"

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach at the familiar sound of Scorpius Malfoy's voice. She'd deliberately avoided so much as acknowledging his presence during class, and she'd thought that a tactic which had served quite well. Having him pop up at her office afterward, where she would not have the luxury of an entire classroom's space to place between them, should he decide to give her another verbal lashing, was not a turn of events she'd anticipated.

Just as she had the other day, she sternly reminded herself that they were_ not_ equals and she could allow his mood swings to have such an affect on her. Forcing a nod, she told herself perhaps it was the idea that if things between her and Draco continued to go well, someday—in a far-off future, when she might actually consider herself _old_—they might be family. That _had_ to be what caused her to put such an unreasonable amount of weight into the young man's feelings.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," she managed to say once she'd found her voice.

His dark eyebrows drew together beneath the fringe of his pale hair. Mr. Malfoy? Of course, he remembered with a somewhat painful jolt that when she'd tried to speak to him the other day, she'd actually called him by his first name. That had only been the second time outside of roll call that she'd ever addressed him as anything besides Mr. Malfoy. If he'd not been so twisted up and angry that day, he might have noticed that as an attempt to connect with him.

And now, thanks to his own behavior, they were back to Mr. Malfoy.

Sighing, his shoulders slumped as he slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. His own fault, really. But then, he couldn't think of a single angle in this situation that wasn't his fault.

Forever proper, she waved her hand in a stiff, uncertain gesture toward the chairs facing her desk. "Would you like to have a seat?"

That she was trying so hard to maintain civility only made him feel worse. She shouldn't have to put on a strained show for him. "No, that's all right, I only wanted a minute or two."

She pressed her lips together in a tight line and folded her hands before her. Her brows lifted as she waited.

He couldn't hold her gaze, dropping his attention to the carpeted floor beneath his feet. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day. I was . . . dealing with something," he said, his voice low and tight—no need to get specific, he reminded himself, despite that something about being in front of her made him want to spill everything so that she might understand how he truly felt. Anything, so she might realize how terrible a person he was for making her miserable like that, but if he said too much, he risked making a bigger mess of things. "Anyway," he continued with a frown, "it wasn't fair of me to take it out on you. You were only concerned for me."

Hermione's shoulders drooped as she watched him fumble through his apology. She was still getting accustomed to the idea that Malfoys could speak words of contrition without their heads exploding. More than that, though, he sounded . . . genuinely sorry, perhaps even genuinely _hurt_. She ignored a painful squeezing sensation in the center of her chest as she plastered a smile in place. Maybe she should be happy he was trying; happy that maybe they could eventually return to the effortless rapport they'd experienced before, when he'd been the one to encourage her as she'd been in doubt over what to do about her interest in Draco.

She was hardly going to discuss her relationship with his father with him. It was bound to be a subject of conversation at some point, but one spectacularly awkward discussion at a time.

"It's fine, Scorpius," she said, her careful smile held in place as she waited to see if he'd even look up, again. "We all have our bad days, after all. Apology accepted."

He did glance up, assuring himself that it wasn't a ruse. Then, why would it be? Honestly, he'd spent too much of his young life around his Slytherin housemates. Those familiar dark eyes, set into that familiar face, reminded him of something. Since she hadn't torn his head off as soon as he'd stepped into the room, he'd wager a guess that Rose hadn't spoken to her, yet. He opened his mouth to tell her, but froze before the words would form.

Her brows crept up her forehead. "Was there something else?"

Swallowing hard, he nodded. "Um . . . ." When Scorpius stalled again, he clenched a fist behind his back, digging his nails into his palm. "I thought I should mention sooner rather than later that I'm . . . I'm taking Rose out . . . on a date. This weekend." For some bizarre reason, every detail he spoke—minor though they were—had a resounding feel to it, like nails being hammered into a coffin.

Hermione had to remind herself to breathe. The reminder took a few heartbeats to kick in and she inhaled deeply, the air rushing out from between her pursed lips. "Rose, as in my _daughter_, Rose?"

He winced, nodding.

"I . . . see."

"I simply thought since you're my professor and you're . . . _dating_ my father, you should know, because it seems like matters could get complicated," he said, feeling like the word complicated couldn't possibly do the situation justice, but then that was likely only his skewed perception of things.

"Of course, I understand." Somehow her smile was still in place as she nodded. "Thank you for informing me, though I'm certain I'll hear about this from Rose soon enough."

"Right, sure, um . . . ." He reached back, blindly grabbing the knob. "Well, that's all. See you in class tomorrow, Professor." He opened the door and slipped back out into the corridor.

Her smile fading, she stared blankly at the door for a long while after he'd exited. Scorpius Malfoy was dating her daughter? So many things in that notion made her just a bit queasy and unsteady that she wasn't quite certain how she felt about it, at all.


	9. Sorting Things Through

**To avoid any confusion, the discussion Draco references in the second portion of this chapter happened **_**off-screen**_**, so to speak.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Sorting Things Through

Harry burst out laughing, so hard it sounded like he was barking, as he slapped a palm against his knee. Only when he saw the quelling looks from his wife and his best friend, did his laughter die on his lips.

Darting his gaze from Hermione, to Ginny, and back, he cleared his throat. "Hmm, right, sorry. I can't imagine how . . . awkward a conversation that probably was."

Hermione sighed as she leaned her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. "I don't know how things got this complicated this quickly."

"It all started the day you snogged Draco Malfoy and didn't think you must've gone mad."

"This isn't funny, Harry," she said with a frown as Ginny slapped her husband's shoulder.

There was a moment of merciful silence as Hermione sighed again, her head shaking. "What should I do?"

Ginny stood from where she had been seated on the sofa beside Harry and rounded the coffee table. Without waiting for an invitation—or even acknowledgement—she wiggled into the arm chair next to Hermione. Hermione couldn't help but laugh as she scooted over, closer to the armrest, to make room for her sister-in-law.

"Look," the ginger-haired witch said, resting a hand over Hermione's. "I don't think either of us have any good—or even decent—advice for this sort of thing. My husband may have been an arse about how he said it, but the situation is _bound_ to be awkward, at best, and a right disaster, at worst."

Hermione's frame slumped and she leaned over, resting her head against Ginny's shoulder.

Giving a sigh of her own, Ginny put an arm around the other witch. "Well, what are your options? Tell them they can't see each other, or just wait and see where things go, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"That's it then, isn't it?" Harry said, sitting back and giving a lazy stretch—the day always felt so much longer whenever he had to sit through a discussion about Hermione and Malfoy.

Both women looked at him, their brows lifted in question.

He frowned, green eyes rolling behind his glasses. "Look, Rose and Scorpius are teenagers, and what do all teenagers have in common, no matter how brilliant they are?"

Hermione laughed, her lids drifting closed a moment. "They all think they know better than anyone else."

Harry nodded. "Exactly," he said, letting his head fall back against the sofa cushion behind him. "If you tell her she can't see him, she'll try to do it anyway, and try to hide it, because she loves you and wouldn't want to upset you. If Malfoy tries to tell Scorpius he can't see Rose, same thing. Worst case scenario, you both come out looking incredibly selfish, telling your children who they can or can't date, because it makes _you _feel uncomfortable."

Shoulders drooping, Hermione groaned. He was right, of course he was. There was nothing she could do—not without potentially damaging her relationship with her daughter, anyway.

"But," as Harry spoke, he set his heels on the coffee table, crossing his legs at the ankle, "that's where option number two comes in and sort of ties into the whole mess."

"What?" Hermione thought for a moment she'd lost her ability to understand anything. She was smarter than this, wasn't she? There just seemed to be something about the idea of Scorpius dating her daughter that her mind couldn't process.

He gazed at her for a long while, as though she'd sprouted a third eye, before he shook his head and laughed. "Same Hermione as ever. You're doing what you always do. You're _overthinking _things. They haven't even gone on their date, yet, but you're reacting as though everything that could happen, better or worse, already has and you're trying to prepare for those outcomes. Truth is, you can't."

"Well why can't I?" Honestly, she couldn't even understand why things wouldn't right themselves in her brain. Why couldn't she prepare for eventualities?

"Because this isn't Arithmancy, Hermione," he said, his words slow, but his tone mildly agitated. He always got a bit short when the brightest person he knew had trouble thinking. "There's no way to calculate an answer. You have no way of knowing how things will turn out. They could end up hating each other, they could fall in love. They could realize it doesn't work half way into that first date and just stay friends."

Hermione nodded, though she was rather certain she felt her face pull into a cringe when the words _fall in love_ left his lips. "Okay, you're . . . ." She nodded again. "You're right, of course. There's nothing to be done, but wait and see how things go. But the question still remains, what do I do right now? Nothing?"

"Yeah," Ginny said with a laugh. "Because you've always been so good at sitting about and doing nothing. No, you be there for Rose when she needs you, talk to Draco and get his perspective. I imagine he'll be just as put off by the idea as you are, and realizing you're not alone might make you feel better. Lastly . . . sometimes, it almost sounds like you and Scorpius are friends more than teacher and student."

Eyebrows shooting up, Hermione sat up a bit straighter. "Oh, God. Does it seem that way?"

She glanced at Harry, who nodded with a thoughtful expression. For Heaven's sake, she knew she shouldn't have told them about Scorpius raking her over the coals the other day! How _else_ could it sound, other than that they were friends if his anger had affected her so? But she didn't see how she could have given them the full scope of the problem while hiding something.

How odd, she thought, that she knew she'd told them _everything_, but still felt like she wasn't being wholly truthful with them.

Ginny's face fell—she hadn't meant to worry the woman. "It's fine, honestly. Like . . . . Like you and Minerva! You were her pupil, but afterward, you became friends, right? So it's fine if you and Scorpius are friends, Hermione, really. So long as _while_ he's still your student, he knows there's a line."

"To be fair," Harry said as he pulled himself to sit forward, "it isn't enough to _know_ there's a line if he doesn't act like it. He's got to_ respect_ that there's a line, and if he can't, well . . . ."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip as she dropped her gaze to the floor. Of course, again they were right. If she couldn't get Scorpius treat her as his mentor while they were student and teacher, then she couldn't entertain a friendship with the young man, either.

God, her life had been so much simpler before she'd accepted this post. She could always blame Harry for that one, she thought facetiously, wondering if that actually might make her feel better.

* * *

"No, absolutely not. I forbid it!"

Scorpius merely held his father's gaze over the tray of tea and biscuits set between them on the table. He arched a brow as his jaw fell slack for a moment.

The younger Malfoy cleared his throat, turning his head a bit, as though he'd not heard correctly. "I'm sorry?"

Draco fixed his son with a withering glare. He wondered briefly if he'd made that same face at his father when they argued. Probably. Merlin, was it unnerving how much facing Scorpius was like looking into a mirror, sometimes.

He fussed with his tea cup as he said, "I forbid you to date Rose Weasley."

"Why?"

Draco thought might fall out of his chair at the sheer stupidity that had just come out of his son's mouth. Rising from his seat, he braced his palms on the table. "Why? Possibly because her mother is your teacher. At the very least that won't look good. Or, better yet, because you know full-well your father is dating her mother!"

Scorpius shook his head, leaning back in his seat as he crossed his legs under the table. "You didn't care how it looked when you started dating my teacher!" He ignored that he was the instigator in that scenario, because he knew if he thought long enough on that point, then this entire mess became his fault. "And it has nothing to do with either of you."

"Doesn't it?" Draco asked, as he stood straight and folded his arms across his chest.

"Look, I already spoke to Professor Granger about it, and she was fine with it."

Draco's eyebrows shot up and Scorpius winced. Perhaps he should have kept that part to himself. "Well, it seems you've said a lot of things to her lately, haven't you? Do you know how worried you had her the other night?"

That sentence brought the younger wizard up short. That terrible face Professor Granger was making as she'd walked past the cafe flashed through is mind. "What are you talking about?"

"She told me you were upset about our relationship." Grey eyes roved the ceiling.

For a moment, Scorpius looked as though he was scrambling for something to say. Draco was not going to give him the time or luxury of talking his way out of this.

"Actually, that's all she said on the matter, _at_ _first_. To be fair, I had to pull it out of her. I think she didn't want to get you into trouble with me. She told me . . . ." Sighing, Draco shook his head and resumed his seat. "She told me she felt that perhaps you hated her."

Scorpius winced, feeling a jab in the center of his chest. He sat forward, again, propping his elbows on the table. "I . . . but when I went to speak with her, she . . . she never said anything. I apologized for that, and she accepted it. And—and then I told her about Rose and she said it was fine."

"Well, of course she did, you stupid boy!" Draco paused for the quickest second, hearing the echo of Lucius Malfoy in his tone. Shaking his head to banish the thought, he continued, "That's how Granger is. Always concerned for the happiness of others. Even when we were children. Did I tell you about the year she tried to single-handedly free _every _house elf from servitude?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice."

"The woman can't help herself. She will always put other people's happiness ahead of what she wants." Draco didn't know quite when it had happened, but by now he was speaking through clenched teeth. "So, of course, she wasn't going to do anything but give you her blessing and send you on your way, because you might make her daughter happy, and she'd want that."

Scorpius was incredibly confused, now. "Then why did you say I can't—"

"Because it could hurt_ her_!" Rubbing his temples with his fingertips, Draco draw a calming breath before continuing. "If you and Rose don't work out, it'll hurt Rose, and that will hurt Hermione. If you and Rose do work out, Hermione might decide to end what she and I have so that it doesn't make things weird for the two of you, which would hurt her, and me. Do you not see that?"

Lips pursed in thought, Scorpius nodded. "So, this is really all about you?"

Draco's shoulders slumped as he met his son's gaze. "Well, of course it is! She . . . ." Lowering his eyes, he shook his head. "She makes me happy, and I like to think I'm making her happy. But that second part aside, I'd thought that seeing _me_ happy and trying not to jeopardize that would have been explanation enough for you."

Well, now Scorpius felt like a bit of a shite. "Father, please. It is enough, but can't I want to be happy, too? Isn't that okay?"

"Of course it is, Scorpius." For long moment, Draco simply stared at his son as he thought of just what he wanted to say. "But I have to worry about eventualities. If you pursue a relationship with Rose Weasley, it may eventually affect my relationship with Hermione, and she's . . . ." He nodded sideways. "She's a _stubborn _woman, if she decides it's best for the two of you that we're over, then that'll be the end of it. There's no arguing with her. Believe me, I've watched souls far braver and more patient than myself try and fail, miserably."

"Well, you can relax," Scorpius said, hiding a smile. "I have absolutely no intention of hurting Rose, or Her—" The young man caught himself as his father's eyebrows drew together. "Or her mother."

Draco sat back, again watching his son's expression for a long moment. "All right, fine. I suppose we can just . . . wait and see how everything goes. For the time being."

The young man relaxed visibly. "That's really all I'm asking."

The doorbell sounded and Draco made a small sound of irritation. "Damn, the elves are tending the garden. I'll get—"

"No, I'll get it; it's fine." Scorpius got to his feet and stepped from the room. Really, he needed a minute, anyway, to get out from beneath his father's watchful eye.

Honestly, what had that been? He'd never called Professor Granger Hermione before, never! He didn't even refer to her by her first name in his own head, so what the _bloody hell_ was that?

He shook his head, sighing heavily as he crossed the foyer and jogged down the short flight of steps. It must've been his father tossing her name about so much. Yes, that was all. That made sense.

Opening the door, he met the angry gaze of the person standing on the other side.

"Rose?"

"Scorpius Malfoy, honestly! How could you?" She stormed right past him and began pacing the foyer.

Draco came to see who was yelling at his son—though, Scorpius wondered if perhaps Father had followed him to the door in the first place, and he'd simply been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice.

He ignored the man for a moment as he turned to watch the fuming witch pace. "Rose, slow down. What did I do?"

She halted in her tracks and pivoted on a heel to face him. "Are you serious, right now?" Her gaze darted from Scorpius to Draco suddenly and her jaw dropped. "Oh, so sorry. Um, pleasure, Mr. Malfoy. You have quite a lovely home, I hope you don't mind that I need a word with your son."

Clearing his throat, Draco nodded. "Of course, Miss Weasley. Have as many words as you like." Turning away, he started back for his untouched tea.

He could hear Rose's voice clearly behind him. "You talked to my mother before I could?"

"Well, I didn't mean to—"

"That really was unfair! How would you have liked it if I'd come here and chatted with your father about you and I over tea?"

Scorpius sounded almost amused as he said, "I think I actually might've preferred that."

"Oh, will you be serious," the young woman snapped.

Draco hid a smirk as he disappeared from their view. He couldn't help an inward laugh over the striking resemblance between mother and daughter—in both appearance and attitude. It was like having a ginger-haired Hermione Granger standing in the Manor foyer.


	10. Failing at Logic

**I apologize wholeheartedly for the extremely long wait between chapters 9 &amp; 10 (… I know someone just heard "9 &amp; 3/4s" in their head). I know you guys are probably irked over seeing new fics pop up, without even a peep on the older ones. I can't say how sorry I am for that, but the new fics had nothing to do with the older fics going on unofficial hold, the new stuff only got written **_**because**_** I had trouble getting the older stories to cooperate for a bit, there.**

**So, to new readers, welcome. To long-time readers, thank you so much for your patience &amp; understanding.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Failing at Logic

During the course of the next month, Draco had Hermione over to the Manor so often, it nearly seemed as though she'd moved in. She'd managed to arrange two dinners with Ginny and Harry that had been strained and awkward, but weren't as awful as anyone thought they'd be—even if both men were ignoring they'd relaxed around each other during that second meal, laughing at one another's jokes when they thought no one was paying attention, and quibbling over the bill.

She and Scorpius seemed to always _just_ miss each other, despite her near-constant presence in his home. The Manor was certainly large enough to make that possible, but sometimes she wondered if he wasn't deliberately avoiding her.

By all accounts—from Rose, anyway, as Scorpius barely said two words to Hermione the entire month—things between him and Rose were going smoothly. That dashed the idea that some unknown issue in their budding relationship might be the root of the problem.

Hermione ignored the faint, uncomfortable fluttering of disappointment in the pit of her stomach when she thought over how little they saw one another. That was normal wasn't it? For Draco's sake, at least, they should have some sort of relationship outside of school, shouldn't they?

The only reason she considered that his lack of interaction with her might be deliberate was because of the day he'd wandered into the parlor, while she and Draco were deciding on a daytrip they could take with Hugo on his next holiday from Hogwarts. Something simple, and nearby, so he could get used to the idea of his mum dating someone, but not overly long, so he didn't feel like she was trying to force the idea on him.

Scorpius had walked in, taken one look at them with their heads together over a list of ideas she's written out, and spun on a heel, exiting the room as quickly as he'd walked in. He probably feared that if he stuck around, they'd think he wanted to be included.

Though, with how he rushed right back out, she couldn't be certain he'd actually heard a word they said.

* * *

Luna noticed movement from the corner of her eye, through the open doorway to Hermione's classroom. Turning her head, she saw her friend sitting at one of the student desks. The brunette drummed her fingers against the desktop as she stared out the window, her chin resting in the palm of her other hand.

Nodding to herself—the static feel of the air around Hermione these days _wasn't_ only Luna's imagination—she stepped into the room. The other witch _was_ troubled by something.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Hermione jumped a little and swiveled her body in the seat to face the speaker. She'd been so lost in her thoughts, she'd not even sensed Luna's approach. Looking up, she met the blonde woman's gaze.

"Hmm? I'm sorry, Luna. What?"

With a small, feathery smile curving her lips, Luna sat down at the desk nearest Hermione's. "You're_ off _recently. I was wondering if you maybe want to talk about it."

Sighing, Hermione nodded. As much as she adored Harry and Ginny, she didn't want to run to them every time something in her _Draco Situation_ was amiss. Mostly because of Harry's near-constant, expectant look that said, "Of course you're having issues, you're dating a _Malfoy_."

"Thank you, Luna. I think I would."

Beaming, the other witch propped her elbows on her knees and interlocked her fingers. She dropped her chin down on her hands, assuming the most perfectly attentive pose.

"Well, you know I've been dating Draco," she said with a mirthless grin. "Ever since that started it's affected the rapport I had with Scorpius. Sure, there were a few bumps at first; after that we got on rather well for a bit as teacher and student, _I _thought. Then Draco and I got together and, at the beginning, Scorpius gave me a really hard time about it. But . . . ." She trailed off, shaking her head.

Luna's pale brows pinched together. "But?"

Shrugging, Hermione dropped her gaze to the floor. "Then we talked about it, and I thought things were all right, again. And now . . . . Now, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he's been avoiding me on _purpose_. It's really bothering me and I don't know what to do about it."

"So you want Scorpius to like you?"

She knew what Luna meant, but even so, something in the phrasing caused an odd clenching in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She brushed it off with a laugh. "Yes, because I'm in need of a date for the Yule Ball."

Luna giggled, the bridge of her nose crinkling.

"Yes. I want my boyfriend's son to like me. I should think that's perfectly normal in our situation."

"Of course it is." Luna gave a side-to-side nod as she went on, "Mind you, divorces _are_ still rare and considered unconventional in the Wizarding world. You know if I'm calling a thing 'unconventional', _that's_ saying something."

Hermione bit her lip to hold in a laugh as she shook her head.

"Beyond that, though, I think maybe there's _another_ reason you want Scorpius Malfoy to accept you." Luna shuffled the heel of one foot against the tile floor. "And it both does, and _doesn't_, have to do with Draco."

"Oh?" Brows shooting up, Hermione gaped at her friend. _That_ sounded like something with the potential to land her on a Muggle daytime telly program. "Do, _please_, clarify."

"Well, the resemblance between father and son is rather strong. The boy's nearly the spitting image of Draco from when we were younger." Luna shrugged, nodding in agreement with her own thoughts. "Maybe you want Scorpius to like you, because . . . . Well, could it be that deep down you wish that Draco could have been like him back when we were that age?"

Hermione felt her eyes widen, as though the reaction was occurring of entirely its own volition. "Well, I—"

"I wasn't finished," Luna said with a look that was almost stern.

Hermione pouted. "Sorry."

One eyebrow flicking upward—in what Hermione could _swear_ was in impression of Minerva McGonagall—Luna continued. "What if you want Scorpius to like you because maybe you had feelings for Draco when we were younger? You just didn't realize it, because you didn't have the freedom to acknowledge it. There's part of you that's imagining that you liking him could have been okay, and that he could have liked you right back."

Nodding, Hermione couldn't help her gaze drifting about the room as she considered her friend's words. She'd always appreciated how insightful Luna could be . . . . True, it saddened her that she could have had unrealized feelings from so long ago, but it made sense in a way.

Her shoulders slumped as she thought it through again and again. She didn't see Scorpius as merely a younger version of Draco, though, did she? _No_. She knew, and recognized, perfectly well that they were each their own man.

But if that was so, then Luna's logic fell short, too.

Hermione left work that night no more certain about the root of the problem than she'd been when she'd walked in.

* * *

Two evenings later, Rose grinned, raising her glass as Scorpius offered a toast. She could almost swear the sounds of chatting patrons, scraping dinnerware, and clinking crystal died away for a moment as he smiled back.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped. Simply holding her gaze, he seemed lost in thought for a moment.

Until she prompted him with a nod and a questioning lift of her brows.

His own eyebrows shot up in surprise and he sputtered a chuckle. "Right, sorry. To, um, to one month of us not having killed one another, yet."

Rose laughed, nodding again as she sipped. "Well . . . ." She cleared her throat and set down her glass. "Not certain that's really _that_ much of an accomplishment. I made it through seven years of school without even attempting to murder you."

"To be fair, back at Hogwarts, you also never would have let me snog you." His grin widened when she rewarded his joke with a playfully-scandalized giggle. "Do you want to go somewhere after we eat?"

Rose's petite shoulders drooped as she thought over what they should do with the rest of the night. She rather liked that they never set out with concrete plans, it gave each date a feel of whimsy.

"I don't know, actually," she said with a shake of her head, her sleek ginger locks swaying with the movement. "Why don't we just wait 'til after we've had dessert and see where the evening takes us?"

Taking another sip, he nodded. Setting down his glass, he opened his menu, taking his time with each item.

Rose watched him for a few heartbeats—the way the delicate skin beneath his grey eyes crinkled as they narrowed in thought, how his lips twitched side-to-side as he fought to keep from questioning the pretentious names of the dishes for his own amusement. Then the twitching stopped, and he scraped his teeth across his bottom lip.

A blush flared in her cheeks as she realized she was staring. Wincing—how embarrassing would that have been if he'd looked up just now—she dropped her gaze to the menu. It wasn't her fault his lips were pretty. And talented.

Her heart thumped at the thought. Of course, they'd not done much more than snogging, and maybe had a few moments of curious, roaming hands here and there. She was both bitterly disappointed by the pace, and sweetly thrilled.

He didn't want to rush things, and she adored the sentiment. Most young men their age would try to rush, she was well aware. Not that she'd let them get that far that fast, but they'd make the attempt.

That was okay, it _had_ to mean he wanted it to be special. She shifted down in her seat a little, hiding behind her menu as she beamed.

Scorpius arched a brow as he noticed the girl disappear, the only thing still visible were her slender fingers grasping the sides of the menu. He felt the oddest sort of relief for a flickering moment.

It was her eyes. Those big, chestnut eyes that showed so much of her response to even the tiniest things. He loved Rose Weasley's brown eyes . . . but sometimes, he couldn't stand looking at them.

That wasn't her fault, it was his, and he bloody well knew it. Every so often, he would remember that he used to see those eyes glaring at him from the front of a classroom. But now, the other pair of them that he was so accustomed to seeing barely glanced in his direction.

He knew _that_ was his fault, as well.

He adored Rose, but there were simply times when something about the way she looked at him reminded him too much of Professor Granger.

Scorpius bit hard into his bottom lip and shook his head. _Fantastic_. Just when he'd been very specifically trying to _not_ think about last night.

* * *

_Sitting up, he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes, in turn. It was easily two in the morning, and here he was, woken up by a dissatisfied growling in the pit of his stomach. He supposed he could go pick at the leftovers from the roast they'd been served for dinner earlier that evening._

_His stomach rumbled again in agreement as he pushed back his covers and climbed out of bed. Still half asleep, he let out a quiet groan, his head falling back as he trudged across his room and out into the corridor._

_He didn't even notice she was there until he nearly tripped over her._

_"Scorpius, you scared me!"_

_Jumping, he gave his head a shake as he met her startled gaze. She stood in the middle of the corridor, wrapped in a black dressing gown. Her hair was tied up in a sloppy knot on the back of her head, and he was very much ignoring that the low-close of the gown allowed a glimpse of the pale-pink nightdress she wore beneath._

_"Sorry, Professor," he said, unable to help a chuckle at the fact that she'd scared him, too. Frowning, he glanced up and down the corridor, wondering if Father was lurking about somewhere, too. "What are you doing up so late?"_

_Her shoulders slumped and her head tipped slightly to one side. "I told you, when we're outside of school, you don't have to call me _Professor_. And I'm just still getting my bearings here." Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she shrugged. "Your father's given me the tour—twice, in fact—but I have to know this place for myself. So . . . sometimes, when I can't sleep, I wander about. Try to see if I remember where everything is."_

_He stopped himself before he could ask if she had trouble sleeping often, or what was bothering her. Instead, he merely nodded. "Perhaps a third tour might be in order. I'm just on my way to the kitchen. Goodnight, Prof . . . . Um, Hermione."_

_Something shifted in her eyes, he was sure, but he refused to think on it as he stepped around her and started down the corridor._

_"Scorpius?"_

_His shoulders bunched, and he halted midstride. "Yes?"_

_Hermione bit her lip as she pivoted on her heel to face his direction. "We, um, we don't talk anymore."_

_"We _just_ did." _

_A half-hearted laugh escaped her. "No. I mean, actually _talk_. Like we used to. I want to know why."_

_He turned to face her, but as soon as he did, he found she'd taken a few silent steps toward him while his back had been turned. Finding her suddenly closer to him, he lost whatever he'd been about to say._

_"Are you angry with me?"_

_His face fell. She looked so genuinely troubled by her question. "No," he said, his voice hissing out in a soft whisper as he stared down at her._

_Biting her lip in thought, Hermione shook her head. "Then what?" Reaching out, she placed a hand on his arm. "Is it something else? Have I done something wrong I should know about?"_

_Scorpius flinched at the touch, but didn't back away. What was he supposed to say to that?_

_Instead, he shook his head. Patting a hand over hers, he said, "You should really get back to bed. If Father wakes up and you're not there, he'll worry."_

_She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he simply slid her hand from his arm and turned away. Hermione stayed a moment, watching him walk off._

_Frowning in confusion, she felt her stomach knot as he vanished around the curve of the staircase landing._


End file.
